


Widow

by Hakyeonsmelanin



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Mental Anguish, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Survivor Guilt, Unrequited Love, Written in levi’s POV for the most part, starts off light hearted but woah boy, this is some sad ass shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakyeonsmelanin/pseuds/Hakyeonsmelanin
Summary: In which Levi falls in love with the wife of a fallen comrade.
Relationships: Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader, Levi/Reader
Comments: 48
Kudos: 92





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this chapter is pretty long but I really wanted to explore Levi’s relationship with the reader and also his character on an intricate level. I swear the other chapters won’t be as long so I apologise for that. Kudos and comments are much appreciated !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi must train a promising group of graduates after the death of Squad Levi. You, being a newly-wed to Lieutenant W. Fischer, are the one who suffers for that.

Levi has no time for idle chit chat.

It is well known amongst the ranks that he is a man of few words, opting for heavy silences and a stern curl of lip, even in the brightest of times. He is solitary as an oyster, preferring to swim through the murky depths of warfare independently and prepared to bite the head off anyone who dares to question him. He is a stout and unapproachable thing with cold, vacant eyes and fingers that perpetually twitch with the need to clutch a blade and _slice_.

He understands that he has a reputation. The distant, hardened war-hero. The saviour of humanity who bears the tragedy of the civilisation upon his shoulders. The man who clawed his way up from the belly of the Earth—that wretched, filthy underground—only to find a sopping mass of human entrails and grey stone walls. Levi Ackerman, humanity’s strongest soldier.

What they don’t know is that Levi is not quiet by nature. Rather, he has been quietened by his duty. In battle, only the most effective and meaningful information must be conveyed. There is no time for sentiment and feeling when those who you have trained with, shared meals with, slept in the same quarters with, are being devoured wholly. When a shrill crescendo of screams is all your ears can register, you must be able to speak with brevity.

 _If it isn’t important then shut the fuck up,_ is what Levi would like to tell the cadets that rush through the barrack doors upon enlistment.

It would save him the headache during times like this. Currently, the titans are but a distant memory with jugs of beer sloshing and around and military rations being passed about with thoughtless generosity. The latest expedition went swimmingly, with Hange being able to capture a new test subject and the death toll being refreshingly low—Levi can understand the eagerness for celebration. It’s been a long time since there’s been anything to celebrate.

He decides to listen. Levi is a better listener than speaker. He can follow orders, he can process information, he can trust his ears to alert him to the presence of any threat. Right now, he settles for disjointed bits of gossip and chit chat, whilst spooning some soup into his mouth.

”—My kill count is rising with each expedition! You should’ve seen the way I sliced—“ _Boring._

“—I miss my mother. I miss my father. I’m beginning to wonder why I’m even here—“ _Boring._

”—I swear to you, I caught him sniffing my underwear—!” _Now that’s just disgusting, you should report him._

He finishes eating sooner than everybody else and stands to empty his tray. Levi is efficient, through and through, with muscles that work through any task he undertakes as quickly as possible. Even the mundanities like eating and sleeping must be done with a level of militant proficiency and he can’t help but feel a little disheartened at how his body doesn’t seem to belong to him anymore. His name, his body, his heart and soul and _everything_ belongs to this war.

”—We had just gotten married, last month, while I was on annual leave! I was hesitant at first but Sunny didn’t mind. She said she would be proud to be the wife of a soldier.” An excited lilt catches his attention as he slides his untouched bread back into the serving tray.

It’s strange, a soldier getting married midway through service. He follows the baritone and peers over at the owner. It’s a freckled, lanky brat. He barely looks as though his balls have dropped and yet, Levi can see the slightest iota of boyish charm in him.

Either his wife has an incredibly big heart or two percent vision in each eye, the Captain deduces. Levi can’t help the swell of his chest, the niggling pity that crawls its way through his bloodstream and rattled through his ribcage. The boy is a newly-wed and will probably die one. His happiness will undoubtedly be short lived. He will never get to wake up every morning enveloped in his wife’s warmth or get to see the rounding of her belly if she is ever with child. He won’t ever grow old with the woman he loves, resigned to a life of bloodshed and brutality until he is tossed into the mouth of a giant and chewed up into nothingness. Why would he get married, knowing the misfortune that awaits him? 

The Captain can’t tell if it’s passion or stupidity that has led him to make his decision. Its a tragedy but the boy has brought it upon himself. Levi shakes his head and decides it’s none of his business.

He sighs and retires to his bedroom in the knowledge that he won’t get any sleep tonight. He never does.

~

When Commander Irwin informs him that he’ll be responsible for the training a group of lieutenants that will act as his new elite squad, he nods his head curtly and gets to work.

The military is running short on manpower and since the fall of Shiganshina, their resources have only worn more thinly. If Levi needs to sacrifice a few quiet afternoons in to ensure that they can keep up with his pace in future expeditions, he’ll be glad to do so. Time is of the essence, when the jaws of death are constantly snapping behind you. It’s imperative that they know that. Squad Levi is to be tasked with the most strenuous, painstaking work—they are the ones who will fight on the frontline. Levi sighs and runs his eyes tiredly. He’ll just have to postpone his afternoon read.

”Okay, kiddos,” he drawls out monotonously, with a dull. half-lidded eyes. “As I’m sure you’re already aware, you’re here because the commander has hand picked you according to your skill set and the level of promise you have shown in battle. Under my instruction, you will eventually become what is known as Squad Levi and work closely with me on large scale operations that require elite personnel.”

He assesses the group in front of him.

There’s no one particularly remarkable looking. They’re all fresh-faced and emanate the distinctive, naïve air of excitement that all rookies do. It’s a good place to start, he reasons. There’s a petite red head who stares at him with a dreamy, wide eyed expression despite the stiffness of her body and Levi resists the urge to tell her not to cream herself _before_ training. After training is fine, he supposes.

Then he sees him.

The newly-wed, standing tall and alert and Levi narrows his eyes. Now, what could this chicken shit scrawny _fuck_ have to offer to the table?

”I wouldn’t get cocky, though. If I feel as though I’m wasting time and resources on any of you, you’ll be out before you can even blink. Introduce yourselves, starting from the left.”

”Sammy Müller, Sir!” A broad shouldered blond shouts out.

“Claire Liebert, Ser!” The redhead responds with a country twang in her tone.

”Justine Bettelheim, Sir!” The line continues on and Levi mentally mulls over the details of his report and the skill set of each individual before him.

His superiors have already formulated training activities and skill specific training techniques. It is Levi who begins to think over how he can ease them into a wholly different approach to fighting. They must move with intuition and fluidity, as opposed to the rigid, mechanical bullshit that has been drilled into them for all these year. If they are to be _his_ team of soldiers, then he shall make them the finest soldiers they can possibly be. 

”William Fischer, Sir!” The newly-wed speaks up at last, being the final member of the team and with his introduction, Levi cocks his head.

”Alright. Now we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, who’s ready to get to business?”

~

Liebert possesses an aptitude for close range combat, which is wonderful, although throwing a punch is unlikely to save you from the teeth of a titan. Müller is an excellent sharpshooter with a talent for calculating trajectories, so much so that Levi wonders why the brat didn’t join the military police instead, where guns are _actually_ utilised. Wagner has the mind of a strategist and, in a few years time, will be able provide invaluable insight into military formations—that is, if she is given the right guidance and, of course, provided she is still alive by then.

Everyone in this team is extraordinary and simultaneously ordinary, brilliant and somehow dull. It tires him, makes him rub at his eyes and mourn the two hours worth of sleep he got the night earlier. The Captain begins to wonder why he didn’t pursue a lucrative career in farming when he watches the tragic attempt at sparring between Bettelheim and Fischer. Well, it’s not tragic per se. It just reeks of inexperience.

Bettelheim seems to be able to keep a good pace, moving in accordance to his enemy’s steps and possessing a skill for sensing his opponent’s weak spots. It’s Fischer who doesn’t seem to excel at anything other than being incredibly good at worming his way out of his enemy’s grasp.

”Fischer,” he begins lowly. The entire team pauses briefly, before continuing their allotted tasks. Fischer swallows nervously, although keeping his eyes still and gaze clear.

”Are you aware that for this to be a sparring match, you actually have to _spar_ ?”

”Uh...yes Sir.” He nods, a little too intensely.

“So, why is it that you’re wiggling around like you’ve got a hot pile of shit in your pants?” The Captain cocks a brow and the lieutenant scratches at his neck with an awkward boyishness. 

”...Well, you see, Sir, I’m not much good at fighting other humans. I’m great on expeditions, though. When I’m up and close to the Titans, I can hold my own rather well...” He struggles out with a meek, well-meaning nod. 

“Hm.” Is all the Captain says, making a mental note to keep an eye on the lieutenant in the upcoming expeditions.

~

”Tired?” Irwin looks up from his protein bar and takes a swig of cider with an even tone. Their friendship is subtle and Levi can respect that, prefers that even.

”No,” he answers dryly, taking a mouthful of his own protein bar and chewing through the blandness.

”How is training coming along?” The Commander enquires conversationally. Levi pauses, momentarily, for no more than a fraction a second. The Commander notices it.

”Adequately. I haven’t seen anything exceptional, as of yet. You’d better be right about them being promising.” He adds with a snort, taking a sip of water. 

“Hm,” Irwin blows a little air out of his nose in amusement with his caterpillar brows flying up to his hairline. Levi continues to chew calmly.

”Do you disagree with my decision?” He tilts his head, rogue blond locks falling slightly with his face.

Levi stills and peers up at the commander with a sharp, pensive intensity. The hall buzzes with chatter and light-hearted conversation, filling the air between them. He sighs, leans backwards and crosses his arms.

”No. I trust your judgement. Me, not seeing anything interesting from those brats doesn’t take away from the fact that they’re trained soldiers.” The captain decides, nodding evenly.

“I just need you to be well supported, Levi. Not everyone can be humanity’s strongest.” He speaks lightly to ease the weight of his words. All those dead bodies, Petra and Oluo and Eld and Gunther and—

Levi hums in agreement and it all clicks into place. He knows what to do. The commander stills and quirks a brow, looking somewhat perturbed at his subordinate’s expression as he stands and powers his way to the training grounds.

“I’ll be damned if they aren’t.” He answers with a gravelly monotone and fire in his eyes.

~

The lesson plan changes considerably, after that fateful evening. Levi resolves that in war, it is the bony, cold hands of death you must be on the look out for. She is always fidgeting and struggling, grasping and gripping for someone to make her own. Once ensnared in the jaws of a titan, there is no escaping her, she will cling onto your body until it melts and corrodes away into nothingness. These soldiers, these children, know nothing of that danger which is why they are so uninspiring in battle.

”Change of plan. We’re going on a field trip. Strap up and get your gear on. Blades too. I expect you to be ready and back her by noon.”

He can already head Irwin’s impending chiding resonate within in his head, those irritatingly blue eyes bulging out of their sockets, when he hears of Levi’s teaching methods. Is it unconventional? Sure. Is it dangerous? Extremely. Will it be effective? _Undoubtedly_. Theory can be taught at any time but experience is invaluable. It is the difference between a breath of fresh air and the suffocation of a titan’s grip.

His students arrive punctually and he gives them a sharp nod. He rounds them up on their horses and rides out immediately.

”How many expeditions have you gone on?” He turns back and Wagner is eager is answer.

”Two, Sir!” The others murmur in agreement and Levi concludes that it is the general consensus. He looks out onto the vast, green pastures and keeps a watchful, discerning eye out for any threats.

It’s not long before they spot a titan, stomping and salivating and utterly ugly. It perks up at their scent, charging forward with all of its might. Levi frowns. What an freaky looking bastard.

“Here we have an approximately ten metre ugly at twelve O’clock,” he begins instructionally. “What are we going to do about it?”

The lieutenants’ eyes bulge slightly, lips parting in unadulterated horror. Humanity are civilised and strong with their codes of conduct and moral values. In the years before titans, they were prosperous and spanned the entire globe. Humanity now, compared to the titans are little more than ants, waiting to be trampled on. The truth of their existence is agonising, it is morbid and it is cruel. But it is not worth panicking over. Outside of the walls, it’s eat or be eaten. He wonders if any of these soldiers truly have the appetite for the task.

It’s Fischer who does.

”I suggest incapacitating it, Sir, through taking out its eyes and limbs, then proceeding to cut the nape.” He answers with a thoughtful furrow of the brows and roughly raised voice.

  
”Then do it.”  


  
The team swings forward in a gallant effort, Bettelheim swinging through the trees and Liebert letting out a mighty roar as she springs through the air. Fischer manoeuvres himself with a delicate proficiency, scraping his blade across the beast’s eyes and blinding it. The others work to cut down it’s legs until it kneels, screeching discordantly and struggling against it’s binds.  


It isn’t long before they cut through the fleshy expense of it’s nape and hot, heavy steam permeates through the air.

He decides to wrap up the lesson, having gauged an understanding of everyone’s abilities. They sweat and sigh and pant and plant themselves down onto the firm concrete of the corps when upon return, exhilarated and exhausted from the task.

Levi wrinkles his nose and opts for a shower instead.

~

The team progresses exceptionally well throughout the training process. They are like sponges, absorbing knowledge with every bit of experience they gain. They soak up the necessary skills to survive in a world where human beings are the hunted.

From the early hours of the morning, when the sky is a vivid array of oranges and pinks, to the darkness of the evening, when the stars watch them curiously from above, they train with an insatiable fervour. They want the weight of blade on their hands, they want the rush of adrenaline pumping through their bloodstream and the heat of steam to burn their flesh. They are becoming more than soldiers, bound by duty. They are becoming warriors and Levi can’t help but feel a little more at ease. This is _his_ squad, his partners, and he is sure they will see him through to the end.

”Perhaps, you’re all due for a break.” He announces, after a particularly strenuous hunt for titan blood.

Irwin, swarmed with meetings with his superiors and plans for future military endeavours, hasn’t even noticed Levi’s peculiar teaching methods. It makes Levi swell with childish smugness. He’s avoided even the most observant of eyes.

“A break?” Müller repeats, panting on the ground and covered in a light sheen of sweat.

His squad—his previous squad—had been more than just comrades to him. Not friends, nor family, but something special—something infinitely intimate. There is a different love you have for those you witness in their final moments.

”Get washed up and get some drinks from the hall. If anyone asks, tell them Captain Levi sent you. I don’t need to tell you I want you back here on time.” He directs the team and they look up at him with furrowed brows and wide eyes.

 _Drunk words are sober thoughts,_ he thinks.

He wants to see what makes them tick.

~

Levi has never been the kind of man, the sort of soldier, who goes the extra mile. He’ll follow orders impeccably, do what is required of him but no more and no less. He does what is necessary, what is crucial for the survival of him and his team. Anything more bleeds into the insurmountable, uncontrollable waves of sentiment and Levi is _not_ a sentimental man. 

But here he is, sipping lightly on a water canteen whilst his team of shitty little brats descend into drunken glee. The Captain fishes into the oceans of his consciousness, trying to figure out _why_ , after so many years of existing in a comfortable military routine, he has decided to go the extra mile.

He finds that it provides him with perspective he would’ve been blind to on the battlefield.

Wagner and Bettelheim work most efficiently together; the brains and the brawn, and similarly group together when intoxicated. They share sloppy smiles and mischievous stares and Levi can just taste the bitterness of military romance on his tongue. As long as it doesn’t affect their performance of the battlefield, it doesn’t concern him.

Müller and Libert bicker, slurring their words and spilling the foam that sits at the top of their mugs whilst other members of the team—Schmidt, Ava and Weber goad them on with playful expressions. Their dynamic is refreshing, almost enough to make Levi feel young again.

Fischer, he observes, is quiet. Stretched across the concrete, he stares at the night sky. The night sky stares back at him, seemingly void of the answers he is looking for.

“Sir,” he speaks at last, when a majority of the team has turned in for the night. Levi is stood, ready to retire to his own room when the voice breaks through his fatigue.

”What is it, brat?” He faces the boy, who stares at him with shiny, sad eyes.

”Would you like to see my missus?” The question is strange, completely random and out of place, yet it is spoken with a tragic clarity.

”Now, why the hell would I want to do that?” He sighs lightly, rolling his eyes. “Fischer, you look tired. Go to bed.”

”Please, sir. Take a look at my missus.” Fischer pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket. It’s neatly folded and crisp at the corners. He treasures this paper with all of his heart.

It’s obvious in the delicacy he holds it with, the saccharine tug at his lips and the enamoured breath that escapes his lips. Levi can’t help the small pool of envy that bubbles poisonously in the pit of his stomach.

It’s been a long time since he’s treasured anything.

”Alright.” Levi relents at the anguished, animal look in the lieutenant’s face. His features, usually so boyish and bright, are now sharp and dim with anxiousness.

Levi sits and lieutenant passes him the paper. It’s a sketch—or portrait, rather— or a young woman. She’s delicate and sweet looking, with a wide smile and a flower resting on her ear. This must be Mrs Fischer. A surprised chuckle almost falls from his tongue. He wonders how a scraggly little shit like Fischer even managed to get your attention, let alone marry you.

”That’s Sunny. Mrs Sunny Fischer! She’s beautiful, ain’t she?” Fischer asks, more to himself than to Levi who remains silent. Instead, he stares at the portrait, mulling over extra detail.

The Captain is no stranger to beautiful women. He’s seen beautiful faces before, spent nights in the arms of beautiful faces and shallow hearts, but you have a kindness about you that makes him want to fight just that little bit harder in battle. Eyes as bright as yours should never have to look upon the hulking savagery of a titan. It is his duty to ensure that.

“I drew it myself, you know? I wanted to be an artist, originally. Used to spend days painting away and I loved it too, but Sunny—Sunny comes from Shiganshina and she just lost so _much_. I had to do something to help, something to make her feel supported,” he sighs shakily, mouth quivering and eyes screwing shut. Levi watches him a steady eyes and a restless, confused mind.

 _Is this what it means to fall in love_?

”—If...if I don’t make it...can you tell her that I loved her? That everything I did was for her?” He looks up at the captain with dark, defeated eyes. His lament, his anxiety, ages him in an unbecoming way. He shrinks into himself and looses all of his charm. Levi wants to hit him, to knock that stupid look off of his face and tell him to get it together.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he watches the lieutenant push the paper further into his grasp. He is forced to memorise the face of another man’s wife.

”What am I? A messenger pigeon? I’m not telling her a thing brat,” Levi starts irritatedly and Fischer heaves a heavy breath. He can’t stand this demoralising, self-deprecating web that Fischer has weaved himself into.

”—Because you’re going to survive and you’re going to tell her yourself.”

~

The team embarks on several missions, collecting samples from Titan territory, venturing out to the fallen cities that were lost to the titans. They vibrated with a nervous energy at the time, hiding their anxieties through lopsided smiles and shaky laughter but had overall shown a commendable will to survive.

Upon their return, they had immediately been tasked with bringing test subjects back for Hange to analyse. The brats were exhausted beyond belief, with purples hues rimming their eyes and heavy hunches weighing down their backs.

_”You’ve got some nerve four-eyes, sending my team out so you can conduct your wacky science experiments.” He rolled his eyes dryly, tutting as the brunette let out a snort._

_”Lighten up, Levi. Maybe the fresh air will do you some good.” She smiled at him with a silent mischief about her, eyes shining behind the glass of her spectacles._

_He’s never understood that shitty four-eyes’ can find it in her heart to hold any compassion for the titans. He’s never understood how she can bare to name those who are not human. How is it that she can look those who have robbed her of so much in the eyes and weep over their demise?_

_Making his way to the stables, he found his team strapped up and ready to fight, blades sheathed and backs straightened out. Not a single complaint was uttered from their thin, tired lips._

_“Let’s go.”_

It is on cool summer nights, when the moon peers through dainty wisps of cloud, that he lies awake in his bed and thinks of nothing. He knows better than to mourn the dead or to lament the past. There is nothing more deplorable, nothing more idle than a soldier who allows his thoughts to wander. He is controlled, down to the very marrow of his bones. He is humanity’s strongest soldier.

He can not afford to be weak, not even in the privacy of his own mind.

~

”Oooh, letter from the wife?” Müller teases, wiggling his fat, bulbous nose in the air and Fischer, being as stupidly meek as he is, begins to blush.

”Shut up.” He mumbles, clutching the paper tightly and beginning to skim over the words with a wide, toothy smile on his face.

Levi rests against a tree, reading up on a new formation that Erwin would like to test on the next expedition. He looks up when Fischer, palm outstretched, is stood in front of him expectantly.

”You didn’t write me a love letter, did you?” He raises a questioning brow and Fischer chuckles albeit nervously.

”Oh, no, not at all, Sir! The missus wouldn’t be to happy about that,” he smiles pleasantly.

”—It’s just that...part of the letter is addressed to you.” He moves his hand a little closer and Levi stares at the boy as though he’s grown another head.

Levi sighs and places the report down, taking the letter and beginning to read. Fischer stays put, watching with wide eyes.

”Scram. I don’t need you hovering over me.” The Captain’s eyes roll up and Fischer is quick to make himself scarce, blond hair flying wildly as he rushes to the other side of the field.

_’Dear Captain Levi,_

_First and foremost, I would like to thank you and your superiors for placing enough faith in my husband to make him a member of your private expeditions. To know that my husband works so closely with you is not only an honour but puts my heart at ease as I know you are a courageous man of great skill and will do your best to ensure his safety._

_However, due to the dangerous nature of your work, I humbly ask that if, for any reason, my husband is unable to write to or come home to me that you keep me updated on his condition. Recently, I have found out that I am with child and would like Will to be an active part of our baby’s life._

_Kind regards and good luck,_

_Sunny Fischer_

Levi scoffs, looking up at the lieutenant who has immersed himself in an intense arm wrestling match with Wagner.

”So, that’s what you get up to during home visits?” He scowls disgustedly at the thought of that brat being anything close to physically intimate.

The letter is preposterous, he decides. Peering down at the flowery handwriting and annoyingly polite tone, he scoffs. He’s not a babysitter and it’s not his job to alert the wives of his men of their conditions. He fights for humanity, he lives for the bloodshed and the guts and entrails and the all the slick nastiness that is hidden from inside the walls. Not letter writing and thinly veiled flattery. 

Yet, something within him feels for the woman. He can understand her desperation and helplessness. He is no stranger to loss, he is no stranger to the sound of the clock _tick tick tick_ away, taunting your ears and deceiving your mind—daring you to look outside and check if your loved one is there. He is familiar with the tragedy of holding someone in your arms as tightly as you can and feeling them slip through your fingertips like sand.

He rips his half of the letter off, keeping your contact information safe in his pocket. Making his way over to lieutenant, he speaks:

”You’ve got a good woman, Fischer.” And in his dry, mocking tone lies a heavy, painful sincerity.

~

Two years ago, when Levi first lined up his squad, he hadn’t regarded them as anything other than average. They were neophytes in the world of militant warfare, learning to balance the weight of their blades with the heaviness of their conscience. They had been disappointing but they had _learned._

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Today, they are warriors. They are masterful in their art, wielding their swords just as a painter does his brush, as a songstress does her voice, as king does his crown. They have risen like the sun and fallen like the night but remain a stable, reliable unit. This group of bumbling, drunken idiots are now his protégés, his colleagues, his squad.

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”Captain Levi, to your right!” Müller bellows as the abnormal swipes his thick, wrinkled fingers through the air. Levi is too fast for him, flying past the trees as though wings have sprouted from his back.

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”Wagner, Bettelheim and Ava take down it’s legs! Fischer, you’re with me and Müller!” He orders and they obey with a robotic instantaneity. 

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They work in perfect synchrony, cutting it apart, slashing its skin into slick, crimson ribbons. The beast roads and waves its arms in a pained frenzy, mouth wide open and—

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“Fischer!”

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A bloody, bent thigh flies through the air.

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Soundlessly, Fischer falls to the ground. Levi works through the air, a bird of prey, before slicing the neck of the creature with an enraged, raspy growl. Isabel, Farlan, Petra, Eld, Uluo, Gunther and now, Fischer. The embers of guilt that lies within his soul has reignited and within the Captain, blazes a flame of red, hot hatred.

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The Titan falls, swiping at Levi for a final time and crushing his leg. With gritted teeth, he watches Müller grip Fischer’s unresponsive body from the ground, lifting him into the air. Blood rains from the skies. The squad races back to the horses, desperate to get back to the Corps. 

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”Is he breathing?” Levi inquires flatly, eyes trained on the walls. He’ll be lucky if he can walk again after this.

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”Barely, Sir.” Ava relays back to him. Titans, two twelve metres and fifteen metre, pursue them eagerly with red, curved tongues. The squad is in disarray, masquerading with cool tones and steady voices.

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”The likelihood of him making it to the walls alive?” The titans stomp down trees and tail them like dog do with bones.

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”He—I don’t think he’s breathing, anymore, Sir. I think he’s dead. Fischer? Fischer? William, are you there?” She shakes him, places her fingers on his pulse points whilst stretching herself backwards painfully.

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”He’s gone. He’s gone and we’re all out of gas.” Levi hears someone murmur, defeatedly.

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The entire squad is bound to the ground, lugging a dead body behind. The titans stumble over each other, ducking onto the ground with outstretched arms and greedy smiles.

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”Ah!” Weber screams as he directs his startled horse to the right, almost ensnared in the hands of the beasts.

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They’re not going to make it at this rate.

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He thinks back to his earlier train of thought. Titans, the dogs who roam the Earth, perpetually in seek of a bone to suckle upon, to chew and devour. For the survival of his remaining team members, he will yield. He will give them their bone.

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”Throw his body.” He orders in a severe rasp. 

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”Sir, you can’t be—“

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”Either throw his body to them or give _yourself_ up!” He hisses, teeth bared and eyes narrowed.

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He hears the howling of the wind, a thump and the sickening crunch of human bone.

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~

He taps his ink against his paper. A series of discordant scribbles litter the page. They mock him, they laugh at his indecision—how hysterically inarticulate the war-hero is.

“What do I say?” He asks, brokenly.

His only reply is silence.

~

Two months later, he is stationed at Trost.

Trost, where that red-cheeked freckled brat Fischer was born and raised. The military parades through the streets on tall, long-necked horses with the public shouting and jeering and screaming and—

Levi has a headache.

Civilians of all ages; the elderly looking for their grandchildren, mothers calling out for their children and teenagers hooting to gain the attention of soldiers who have caught their eyes all bellow at once. There is no peace, even amongst his own kind.

A cadence of sobs play in the background, no doubt from those who have lost someone dear to them. Levi looks on. There is work to be done.

He catches a glimpse of a pink flower and gentle, beckoning voice:

”Will? Will? Has anyone seen Will..?” You ask the women beside you, who nod confusedly.

”Will? Sweetheart?” You scurry through the crowd, pushing to the front in a frenzy. Levi pauses and pulls out the ODM gear in his satchel.

This is what he came for. This is his final duty, the promise refused to make but must fulfil.

”Sunny?” His horse halts in front of you as he speaks in a soft, low monotone. His eyes are glazed over with disinterest, his back is straight with pride because he is a survivor, humanity’s saviour, and can not afford to be anything less.

A mask of militant indifference is tightly etched into his skin. There will never be so much as a crack in it. He _is_ emotional disconnect, he is the one who leads your loved ones to their deaths, he is the only one who survives and he is the one who is showered with critical acclaim. He reasons it is because they were weak and he was strong.

 _How much longer can you be strong_? He asks himself. He doesn’t have the answer.

Your expression contorts into one of skittish bewilderment. As your eyes lower to the cast wrapped around his leg, a look of realisation crosses your face. 

”Captain Levi?” You begin with a small, mousy smile blooming on your lips. It doesn’t reach your eyes. They’re still with worry. “Where’s Will? He hasn’t gotten back to me—“

Wordlessly, he holds out the ODM gear and places it in your trembling hands.

”He didn’t make it,” your eyes dart around him, wildly seeking a freckled face and fair head of hair.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

He kicks his horse and trots on. An anguished, breathy scream tears from your throat. He ignores it.


	2. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi and you learn to deal with accepting death and form an unlikely friendship.

“You’ve effectively been relieved of your duties.” Erwin finishes with a slow, discerning nod. Levi gives him nothing but a vacant, half-lidded stare. 

”Understood.”

He censors the bite of his tone, the grit in his teeth and unclenches the fist that is tightly balled up underneath the table.

Peering down at his hand, he finds small, reddening crescent shapes staring back at him. Erwin blinks with incredulity, waiting for an explosive, uncontrollable response. Instead, with a sour quickness, Levi clutches his crutch and lifts himself up onto his feet. 

”You’re taking this well.” Erwin’s lips tug at the corners, eyes soft although ceaselessly analytical and Levi realises that he’s trying to _comfort_ him.

A wretched, molten anger churns through the Captain’s chest, He realises—after a heavy moment of silence—that it stems from helplessness. Levi has never been a bystander, he’s never taken pleasure in cowardly spectatorship.

In the Underground, he had been the spectacle, the brilliant knife-wielding prodigy that could take down men double his size. In the Survey Corps, he is the man who devours titans, the man who is worth a hundred—even a thousand soldiers.

With a shattered leg on civilian grounds, he is simply Levi Ackerman.

A man without purpose.

”I’d be a liability on the field, right now. Can’t do jack shit with this leg of mine,” he replies steadily and Erwin looks at the Captain with cool, youthful mirth in his eyes. He knows Levi well enough to know that he is ravenous for titan blood, even with the haughty, nonchalant air he exudes.

”—Nah. I’m going to rest and take it easy for a while. But, when I’m back, I’m going to give those titans hell.” He resolves with a slow drawl, blinking lazily and reaching for the door.

~

The clock taunts him.

A slow succession of _tick tick ticking_ fills the air around him wholly, yet the sound is entirely distant.

This isn’t him. 

This idle, lazy routine isn’t him and somehow, he’s been forced to live through it and act as though he isn’t the pair of shoulders humanity’s fate rests upon. It repulses him, it burns him, to be of no use to the military he has pledged his life to.

 _If you’re not a soldier, then what are you?_ the clock asks him.

Levi can’t find it within himself to answer.

He stretches out the scarred flesh of his leg, huffing with an edge of petulance. Levi cleans the days away, wiping down the flooring, changing the bed sheets repeatedly and folding the cloth in neat, lightly stacked piles, scrubbing at even the slightest specks of dust until his fingers are swollen and the skin is red—verging on blistered. Before he knows it, the sun has set and the moon has risen. He attempts to get some sleep.

The bookshelf in the far corner of his room catches his eye after some time. He decides that some light reading should quell his boredom and that if he’s lucky enough, it will dull the ticking of that _goddamn_ clock.

He works through the his humble collection, mostly reading up on outdated information on the titans and the history of the walls and for a while, it works. 

And then, on a bright summer morning, he watches his comrades ride out for the next expedition. Their brows are sternly furrowed, eyes narrowed in determination and he knows that not even _half_ of them will return from this mission. 

Dull sparks reignite in the pit of his stomach, smoke wafting up to into his lungs until he suffocates from the inside out. He yearns to know what this feeling is. 

It isn’t until the Survey Corps return hours later, no longer a gallant and noble lot but a bloodied, dying mess, that he finally understands what has been brewing inside of his gut. 

Pure, primal, raw jealousy.

~

The clouds gather above Levi. There is a storm brewing from far ahead. Not a sliver of sunlight has escaped the grey cast that shadows the Earth. Levi hates the dark.

Torrents of rain stream from the skies, sliding down the grimy stone of the walls. The miserable structure is stained an even darker shade of grey, almost appearing a grim onyx, and Levi wonders that if there is a a God, why he would allow his sacred creation to dirty in the first place.

Scoffing, Levi concludes that either God is an unobservant fool who hasn’t noticed his creation’s suffering or a self obsessed prick who doesn’t care.

Neither bodes well for humanity. 

Yet, Levi aches to suffer. His fingers are numb without the rippling sensation of his nerves being severed and sliced and suckled at. His leg, almost entirely healed, often bends at strange angles when his mind is occupied and normalcy becomes routine until he feels the violent rattling of his bone and realises that _he_ is the one who is doing it.

His lust for blood—to die the most decadent and tragic of deaths—consumes every last cell in his body, it goes down deeper than anything he has ever known. It transcends his subconscious and weaves itself into the fabric of his soul.

He watches the rain pour from the thin glass of his window. From the filth of the walls to the dirt on the ground, all the world’s impurities are washed away. Before he knows it, his own feet are racing through the barracks and the soles of his boots are sinking into the wet Earth below him.

He stands in the rain for what feels like hours.

 _Who do you do this for?_ he asks himself.

_Humanity? Or yourself?_

And when he looks down at his trembling, soaking hands, he finds blood—vivid and thick—slipping through his fingertips.

~

Levi can’t stand the vulnerability that comes with medical check-ups.

Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling of the medical wing, he feels utterly exhausted. He longs for the clanging of metal and the burn of steam against his skin. Instead, he runs a finger through his hair and sighs. His undercut is beginning to grow out, his scraggly black tendrils falling in front of his eyes. He’ll need to shave down the sides soon.

”Sir?” He snaps his eyes open to find dainty, horrifyingly familiar features staring right back at him.

_This has to be fucking joke._

“Are you ready for your examination?” You ask with mild, pained professionalism. He nods wordlessly and extends his injured leg outwards.

Your eyes are dull with grief, lined with purples and browns and utter exhaustion. It captivates him. How methodically you work, even with the tremulous shaking of your fingertips and choked heaviness of your breath. The heartbreak—the tragedy you must endure—is written clearly on your face, so candidly for all to see. It is as though there is a deep, intrinsic part of yourself that is missing and no matter how thickly you bandage your wound, a spot of blood will always seep through to the surface.

Levi has never believed in soulmates. He has never had much regard for nonsensical, unrealistic tales of true love and the red string of fate.

No, not when he was raised in the dim, depraved Underground where sex sells and the body has more to offer than the heart ever will. 

But what he does understand is loss. 

Levi wants to hate himself but knows better than to dwell on such things. War and death go hand in hand, being the only lovers to truly stand the test of time.

”Well, it’s a compound fracture. I’m sure you already know that but it’s—it’s...uh...” you blink wearily, stumbling over your own words. Your ears heat up slightly, brows furrowing and for moment, you look angry.

He wonders if it is himself that you are angry at, or yourself.

”—Most of the hard work has been done. Your leg has already been operated on and sanitised. It’s pretty much healed but, uh, make sure you don’t undertake any strenuous physical tasks and rest your leg as much as possible. You’ll probably end up with a limp and, because of the nerve damage, a lasting ache in it. Other than that, they’ll be no long term side effects.” You spout with a sudden, mechanical quickness.

Your lashes are long, shrouding your pupils as you cast your eyes downwards. It is the look of a widow, singularly sad and yet so common.

Levi pauses, scanning your mannerisms a little more critically than he means to. You shrink under his gaze.

”Thank you.” He nods curtly and you stretch your lips in a strained effort at politeness.

It’s a tight lipped smile, without a single sliver of tooth in it; hollow and too-wide for the rest of your face. Cold, slimy disgusts collects in the pit of his gut. 

Levi makes it halfway to the door, feeling your intense, unwavering gaze corrode through the flesh of his back. There is a peculiar silence shared between the two of you, one that is brimful of unspoken words and begs to be broken.

And then, with all the courage you can muster, you break it.

”Was he brave when he...? Did it _mean_ something?” A small, high gasp follows your words, as though you didn’t truly register them before speaking.

Levi is a close friend of grief. She seems to follow him everywhere he goes, an aching yet everlasting presence in life. She is almost comforting—a reminder that he is more than tales of gallantry and courage. He is a man. A victim of the titans just as everyone else is.

Down in the depths of the Underground, she had cradled him upon finding the cold, unresponsive body of his mother.

In the fields of the outside world, she had kissed his teary cheeks upon the discovery of Isabel and Farlan’s mutilated remains.

Through the woody, warm interior of the barracks, she chases him relentlessly after expeditions—both failed and successful. 

He has seen her in all her forms—when she is loud and fierce, panicked and incoherent, dull and pensive.

But you—you grieve in a beautifully quiet way. You grieve as a soldier does.

”I’m sorry, that was wrong of me to ask—“ you begin to apologise, hands shaking frantically and lips tightening up again. An irrational wave of anger crashes over him.

”Yes,” he turns to face you, taking your hands in his own. They steady under his touch, your blood freezing under his pale, wiry fingertips.

There is a subtle tenderness in his touch, although the movements are of direct efficiency. They chide you. They warn you to stitch up the bloody wound in your chest with a glowing hot needle and maintain a strong front.

You are a nurse, your livelihood depends on the quickness of your mind and the trained dexterity of your hands. You need to get it together.

”He was a valuable asset to the team. He did his best, right until the very end.”

He lies with good intentions. Eyes lowering to your stomach, he recalls the letter that had been passed to him that fateful summer afternoon. The pretty, intricate flow of your writing despite the heavy, imploring nature of your words. You had birthed Fischer’s child. A growing, breathing reminder of the love that you have lost.

He cannot tell you that your husband died a bloody, mangled mess and that it was _his_ body that was fed to the dogs. He cannot tell you that years upon years of training, sleepless nights and endless days amounted to nothing for your husband.

He cannot tell you that Fischer had died silently, not as a fearless and prosperous soldier but as a leaking, slick sanguine sack of meat that was tossed out without a moment’s regard.

He cannot tell you that it was him, Captain Levi Ackerman, who had ordered your husband’s body to be desecrated by the sopping and slimy tongue of a titan.

He is the one who left you without a body to bury.

You nod at his words, a small flush of colour returning to the pallor of your flesh. Then, you pale once more.

”You didn’t write.” You sigh, pulling away your hand from his and rubbing at it in viciously nervous circles. Your tongue wets the sides of your mouth. Levi watches your movements curiously.

”I know.”

~

There are times where you forget about what has happened and find yourself staring at the front door, waiting for him to walk in with a boyish grin and bouquet of flowers in his hands.

_“They’re from outside.” He plucked the biggest flower from the bouquet, a luxuriously yellow jonquil, and slipped its stem behind your ear._

_You paused, eyes darting up from the fragrant, full assortment of flowers. They were mismatched and the colours contrasted unflatteringly. Thick bile lurched in the pit of your stomach. You feigned a smile._

_”Outside as in...outside the walls?” You inquired. He nodded with a lordly yet entirely boyish composure. His eyes crinkled in anticipation at your reaction._

_”Will,” you breathed shakily, eyes watering. There was a strange poignancy in his actions. He had handed you freedom, tangible and real, in your very palms and yet, all you could was feel an excruciating sadness._

_“—They’re lovely.”_

_”Hey! Hey, there’s no need to cry!“_

__

_”I’m not crying, I just—“ you force a shaky, insincere smile. “I’ll go and put them in some water. I want them to live as long as possible!” His fingers prodded your cheeks, pinching them affectionately._

_A perverse mixture of irritation and comfort, something hot and cold; cruel and kind all at once wracked your body._

__

__

__

__

_His touches were lingering, a pressure that lasted on your skin even in his long, unforgiving absences. Leaping onto your feet, you pulled away from his embrace and rushed to find a vase or a pot or anything that could take your attention from Will—_

__

_An apprehensive (cruel) voice from deep within you whispered in your ears, telling you that the flowers would last longer than he would._

__

_“I’ll go get changed, honey. Be back in a few.” He fingertips patted your stomach, round and stretched out with maternity, lips quirking up uncomfortably._

__

_He had always understood your strange need for space, no matter how off-putting it had been._

__

_Will was a formidable artist with deft fingers and a natural dexterity but it was his unyielding sensitivity—that peculiar, almost effeminate comprehension of the human soul—that had truly breathed life into his work. Like all great artists, he had a passion for the human life and the emotion that shaped it._

__

_You watched him walk up the stairs, with a strange fearfulness. You watched him carefully, unwaveringly and afraid that if you had dared to blink, he would’ve disappeared and the vase would’ve been empty once more._

__

Your mind is your biggest enemy.

It taunts you with pictures of sweeter, simpler times; and forces you to relive those terrifying, languid days where Will and you would try to slip back into a routine together, brushing fingertips and stealing kisses and hating the incessant ticking of the clock because, sooner or later, he’d be gone again and you’d be stuck alone in this empty fucking house.

__

You sit at the kitchen table, with a box brimful of flowers—Will’s silent, beautiful apologies for leaving you so often. The colour in them has rotted away, the petals have died a thousand deaths, losing the silk in their texture. Like you, they lie as limp, brittle ghosts of what they once were. You can’t find it in yourself to throw them away. 

__

_Why can’t I cry?_

__

You clutch the broken petals tightly, hold them closely to your heart and bring them up to your nose. You inhale deeply, desperate to catch even the faintest vestige of their former earthiness, a mossy although liltingly sweet fragrance. The smell of morning dew and fresh rain. The smell of fresh air that flows freely from beyond the walls. 

__

_I need to cry. I need to feel something, damn it._

__

They have lost their scent and all that made them beautiful.

__

_He’s dead and I can’t even cry for him . what does that mean what’s wrong with me did I ever even love him_

__

The front door stands tall and complacent in your grief.

__

_Any moment now he’ll be back any moment_

__

The door remains still.

__

~

__

When Hange tells him that a nurse down at the infirmary had collapsed earlier today, he doesn’t need to ask who it is.

__

Instead, he retires to his bedroom and gathers a crisp sheet of writing paper, resting it beside his pot of ink.

__

_Closure,_ he thinks every bit as logically as he does tiredly.

__

_You need closure._

__

There is a side to him that is smaller and weaker than he could ever care to admit. It tells Levi that he, too, needs closure.

__

~

__

You don’t write back to him. Levi figures you’ve either been fully engulfed in grief, losing your grasp on day-to-day mundanities or (most likely) you don’t want to reply to him.

__

He busies himself with regaining the strength in his legs. The Captain takes an almost obscene pride in his body. It is his strength, his livelihood and only form of protection in this brutal world he has been forced into. The secret to his strength, whatever it is that has equipped him to become the face of humanity, lies within the taut muscles of his frame.

__

He is nothing if he is not strong.

__

”Nineteen...” Grunting, he feels his body abdominal region tingle sharply. The pain both exhilarates and disappoints him. Still, he pushes himself further.

__

“Twen-“ A sting, agonising and abrupt, bites into the muscles of his leg. He falls.

__

_Fucking Tibialis anterior_ , he hisses whilst shifting his weight to regain his composure.

__

Flopping onto the ground, he rests sullenly. Then, he stands. His legs ache and wobble humiliatingly like that of a newborn deer. It makes him feel utterly exposed, skin flayed cleanly and bones on display for all to see.

__

He washes himself clean and collapses into bed, exhaustion consuming him wholly.

__

~

__

Levi almost misses it.

__

It’s discreetly hidden under five or six other letters and documents, fairly small in size and the envelope is stained, yellowing with antiquity.

__

”To Captain Levi.” He reads flatly before collecting up the papers and shuffling them into a neat pile on his desk.

__

He works through the pile, a majority of it being sent from Erwin and other military personnel, updating him on advancements made in reclaiming lost land. One or two are from adoring _fans_ who make his lip curl in disapproval at their idealistic perception of war.

__

The last letter is entirely different.

__

Gingerly, he unfolds the envelope and places it onto his desk. He presses it against the wood, feeling the callouses in the oak before smoothing out the creases in your letter.

__

He notes the neurotic tremor in his fingertips as he holds the paper closer to his face, although that does nothing to stop it.

__

‘ _To Captain Levi,_

__

_I want to apologise for the time it’s taken me to write back to you. Truthfully, I didn’t want to. I was angry that you had even written to me in the first place. I was angry because I didn’t know what to say._ ‘

__

Your handwriting is just as pristine as he can remember, perfectly joined although possessing a discordant lack in directionality. There are words that fall much too lowly than they should and others that rise high above the rest of the line. You were unspeakably, unendurably nervous whilst writing this letter. 

__

He knows it because he had felt the same when writing to you.

__

_’At first, I wondered if it was a joke and if you were mocking me with your sense of timing. I asked myself why. Why, at last, had you decided to write to me? Why had you done it **now** when you know the moment has passed and there’s nothing left to say. But my husband ~~holds~~ held you in high regard. All I can do is continue to trust his judgement.’ _

__

‘ _He had always spoken of you so fondly that I, myself, had become rather fond of you at one point. There is a story he told me about the two of you. That you had stayed up and stared at the night sky whilst half drunk and completely exhausted._ ‘

__

_’Will had found it easy to put you on a pedestal during his early days of being a cadet. You’re infamous. More of a myth than a man and I suppose it’s easy to get lost in tales of a promising future, even if it is at the cost of a single person. It was only after that night, those few moments you spent with him alone just to talk, that had given him an ‘epiphany’ as he liked to call it—the realisation that even you have vulnerabilities._ ’

__

Levi sucks in a breath at the raw, almost forceful nature of your words. They’re borderline offensive to him yet somehow, when he thinks back to that twinkling, mischievous night sky and the intricacy in Fischer’s pencil marks, he feels nothing less than consoled—understood— by you.

__

He reads on carefully, taking a swig if water from his canteen and loosening the muscles in his shoulders.

__

‘ _I had forgotten that in my anger and grief but, funnily enough, the thought came to me last night before I had fallen asleep. I knew I had to respond to you, especially after you had taken the time to write to me and as be candid as you were. Thank you for that._ ‘ 

__

‘ _I would also like to thank you for asking about my health. I’m doing much better better now and will be returning to work soon. I hope you’re also doing well and continuing with your training routine. I hope you haven’t put too much strain on your leg, although something tells me you haven’t been._ ‘

__

Levi furrows his brow. A joke?

__

‘ _Please write to me soon,_ ‘ 

__

‘ _Y/N Fischer_ ‘ 

__

You sign off with a sweeping curvature. Sunny must’ve been a nickname, he surmises. It’s a pretty thing to be called, bright and child-like but it is your real name that captures the adult, brooding nature of your grief.

__

Reaching for a pot of ink, he works on his response immediately.

__

~

__

Your lungs feel so heavy, your heart aches so deeply—each breath you take requires concentration and thought and _shouldn’t this come naturally to me_?

You wonder, briefly, if it would be easier to not breathe at all.

~

__

The correspondence between him and you becomes a strangely important fixture in Levi’s life.

__

He awakens at five in the morning, stretches, makes his bed and checks his postage slot on the way to breakfast. He reads your letters whilst spooning glum, grey coloured oats into his mouth and finds they begin to taste honeyed and sweet.

__

It’s nice, having something to look forward to.

__

You’re impressively punctual, always writing back to him within three days of his postage.

__

He thinks of the stifling nature of time, how having an excess of it, being isolated with an intricately crafted clock that can explode and _cuckoo_ at any given moment is utterly destroying. Time spent alone in one’s own thoughts is a quiet sort of danger, a detriment that can only be recognised when it is too late.

__

He hopes you can keep busy. Fischer, the sturdy pillar that upheld your marriage, has crumbled into dust and scattered about the universe. It is your child who you must be reliant on now, he realises.

__

He can envisage you, delicate jaw tightening in concentration and arms wrapped around a freckled child—ink smearing from your fingertips onto the babe’s cheeks. It is both a sad and beautiful image. It is beautiful because it _is_ so sad.

__

_’To Captain Levi,_

__

‘ _You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. In the morning, I had decided to shop for some fruits and bread. While I was at the marketplace, I overheard some commotion and found that a child was caught stealing from one of the stalls. The owner of the stall had gone ballistic, screaming so loudly that the child had burst into tears. Can you believe it? I didn’t realise people could be so cruel—especially to a kid. He couldn’t been older than nine. I had decided to pay on his behalf but I made sure to give the stall-keep a piece of much mind. That’s the last time I ever buy anything from that asshole._ ‘ 

__

He remembers the misers of the Underground. Those who would scoff and spit at him when his trembling lips would ask for bread. His gaunt, skeletal form collapsing in dusty, dark alleyways, so to be safe from the shadow-like men who would snatch children like him off of the streets. Foaming at the mouth, choking on crackers and bread crumbs because he didn’t know when his next meal would be—Levi is no stranger to starvation.

__

There is something about your words that warms his chest.

__

‘ _When I had returned home, my neighbour asked for me to take care of her children so she could sell her produce at the farmer’s market. You see, she keeps chickens. Only two, a male and female, that make a surprisingly charming couple. They were probably the most pleasant personalities I had encountered today. The children, on the other hand, ran me wild. I didn’t know how to deal with them. They had so much energy and I could barely keep up. I just wanted to sleep._ ‘

__

’ _I spent the rest of the day cleaning and baking and now I have a ridiculously large rotisserie chicken and small assortment of cakes in front of me that I have no intention of eating. Tell me, Levi, how do you deal with the silence? When everything you’ve had to do is done and you have no way of putting it off any longer—how do you face the silence at the end of the day? You must know what I’m talking about._ ’

__

There it is. A melancholy note that forces its way into his chest and rips his heart out through the ribs.

__

The guilt is all consuming, ruthlessly so.

__

He begins to write a response.

__

~

__

“How does it feel?” The nurse asks him, rotating his leg carefully. 

__

”Fine.” He murmurs in a quiet monotone. 

__

The nurse, despite looking unconvinced, says nothing.

__

~

__

‘ _To Captain Levi,_ ‘

__

‘ _Thank you so much for the advice. I suppose time is the best of all healers. As much as I hoped you’d tell me that the grief would subside over time, your honesty was much more appreciated._ ’

__

No, it wasn’t.

__

‘ _Enough about me, though. I want I hear more about you. Tell me everything, even the most boring of things—what is humanity’s strongest solider’s favourite colour? What do you like the eat most in the world? Do you have any pets? I’d love a dog but you seem like more of a cat person. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe your eyes. They’re very feline looking._ ’

__

He’s very handsome, in a sly, quiet way. Not like Will, who is— _was_ — gangly and wide eyed and boyish. An open book unlike Levi, who is an ancient scroll of hieroglyphs that must be carefully deciphered. 

__

‘ _Also, how is your leg faring? It must be almost completely healed by now, right? I’ll be sure to check on it personally when I return to work. Until then, please take good care of yourself._ ’

__

You want to blame him so badly.

__

You look down at your palms, the intrusive scarring and puckered skin staring back at you. This perverse souvenir, this defilement of your body is all you have left of your home. The home that Levi and Will both fought to reclaim.

__

_No_ , you conclude whilst stuffing the letter into a white, neatly pressed envelope.

__

You are the one to blame.

__

~

__

Levi dreams of a thundering sky that rains blood, the tears of a widow and the cries of a fatherless child.

__

He awakens to silence and a damp pillow.

__

~

__

You return to work the following week.

__

The infirmary beds are lined up much too closely for your liking, curtains are too wide and creasing with age, the wood on the floor is dull—when was the last time they shined the god-forsaken thing?

__

“Cadet Arlert, how can I help?”

__

He’s a blond, mousy thing that hides behind a thick mop of hair. He speaks with a nervous intonation but a delicacy that makes your heart warm and blood freeze all at once. You pray to God that he will pick the safety of the inner walls when the time comes.

__

”I-I...banged—I banged... my—“ he fumbles slowly.

__

The boy has sustained a concussion, judging from his lack of co-ordination and slurred speech, not to mention the sallow, ugly bruising on his forehead.

__

You focus on pouring him some water, keeping him awake and, suddenly, something lights up within you. Looking back at the boy, you realise it is something gentle and cruel, something that makes you want to cry and laugh all at once.

__

~

__

You create a game out of the letters.

__

It’s nice to be comforted but even nicer to be wanted—sought after. For a few days, you disturb the routine that Levi and you have crafted so intricately. You ignore his quietly pleading letters, watching them pile higher and higher every time you look at them. They form the crudest of towers. You want to see how high it can grow.

__

You make him wait just as you once waited.

__

It’s not spite that drives you but, rather, desperation. There is no one left to worry about you anymore, no one who would care if you disappeared from the face of the Earth—sunk into the ground and let Mother Nature eat away at your flesh, suck upon your bones and bury you deep within her soils.

__

_Would that be such a bad thing?_ You ask yourself quietly, tearing into the newest addition in your collection of forgotten letters.

__

He hasn’t stopped writing to you nor has he stopped abiding by the tragic schedule you’ve formed together— _together sounds nice_ , you think.

__

‘ _Y/N,’_

__

‘ _I don’t know why you’ve stopped replying to me. All I can do is speculate. I’ve come up with many theories but none of them hold any weight if you can’t confirm or deny them so I’ll ask you myself, plainly and upfront: why won’t you respond?_ ‘

__

You smile at his militant, matter-of-fact tone.

__

’ _I’ve been busy recently, getting back into my work and dedicating more time to my training schedule. When I find the time, you can expect a visit from me. Either tomorrow, or the following day._ ’

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‘ _You’re not alone. You are a friend to me and I never leave a friend behind._ ’

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‘ _Levi_ ‘

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You know the mundanities of his character—that he loves the taste of sweet berries and despises all forms of grime and dirt, that he has a tendency to exercise when stressed and prefers his hair short, purely because it had been filthily long in his youth.

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You know the deeper, sadder parts—dark truths that Levi, himself, struggled to confess for so long—that he had grown up poor with a nameless uncle who was little more than a distant stranger, that sugar had been a rarity where he was raised and so any taste of it that he catches now must be savoured wholeheartedly or else a cold regret overtakes him; that he had first experienced loss in the form of his mother—her dull sea-green eyes being all he can remember of her.

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And now you know that he is your friend, your only friend in world.

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You place the letter into a draw of all your previous correspondences and drag yourself up the stairs in preparation for bed. Picking out one of Will’s tunics, you stare at the fabric vacantly. It’s a light, dusty pink, one that he hated out of fear of looking too feminine and ‘unsoldierly’. 

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Climbing into bed, you hold it closely to your chest and inhale deeply, hoping—praying— that it will either lull you to sleep or inspire some emotion from within you.

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~

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The first thing he notices upon walking into the infirmary is how quickly you move within the cold, clinical walls.

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You collect medical equipment together—a haphazard pile of gauze and bandages—and tuck them away in their corresponding cabinets with a peculiar immersion.

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You look perfectly fine.

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And, somehow, you’re not. Levi frowns quietly. He stands, watching you open and close cabinets, sterilise old medical equipment that the board is refusing to replace, adjust the crooked corners of bedsheets, smooth down the curtains, wipe down the windows—

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First, Levi notes the neuroticism of your movements. He can see himself within you, only smaller and sadder and _stronger_ —it leaves him with the inexplicable urge to tear out his hair.

Why should you be strong? Why do you insist on upholding this tragic pretence of something that isn’t normalcy but is agonisingly close to it? You played this role before, during that first terrifying ( _exhilarating_ ) medical exam but had failed and broken before his eyes. Now, you have memorised the movements and mastered the act with an artistic expertise and it makes Levi want to wretch. 

”You on the night shift?” He drawls slowly. Head jerking upwards, you stare at him with startled ( _guilty_?) eyes.

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”No,” you begin after a few awkward, silent seconds. “—Just cleaning up before I lock up. No one’s in here, tonight. ”

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He nods unblinkingly, before picking up a spare cloth on the side—slightly cold on his fingertips—and joins you on your mission of purging the infirmary of dirt (pretending to be okay).

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You look at him, surprised although silent.

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Together, you work in a wordless, perfect synchrony. Where he scrubs the highs of the room, you tackle the lows; he sprays the flooring and you wipe it clean. It’s systematic and solemn all at once. It’s comfortable and uncomfortable, how easily the both of you have fallen into a rhythm.

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He destroys it.

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”It’s been a long time since we last saw each other.” He comments dryly, gauging your reaction with carefully narrowed eyes.

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Wearily, you blink once. Then twice. Finally, you open your mouth and speak in a quiet, clear voice.

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”It has.”

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He can see the cogs in your head whirring, twisting and turning and struggling for conversation.

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”—How is your leg?” Momentarily, you pause to stare at the limb. Levi’s own eyes flicker down to the stupidly weak thing.

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”Healed. You were right, it does ache often. It’s nothing I can’t deal with, though.”

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You nod, smiling thinly. The tightness in his jaw only gets tighter. He hates that smile so fucking much.

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”—And you? How are you doing?” He asks, placing the soap-dampened brush in his hand down onto the floor. You open your mouth a little too quickly, with what he assumes is a pre-prepared response.

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”— _Don’t_ answer unless you’re being honest, Sunny.” You flinch at the nickname, tongue darting out nervously to wet your dry lips.

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”I don’t know.” You answer finally, after a moment of consideration.

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Levi’s feels his brows furrow, feels his mouth twist into a confused frown, but finds he can do nothing to stop it. He doesn’t understand.

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You hide in plain sight, a grief so candid and yet inexplicably complex. First, in the grey beginning, you had clung to him with your words—implored and pleaded for him to remain in your life, fill the deep, bloody hole that Fischer had left; and Levi, knowing he would never succeed, dived in headfirst.

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Now you must face each other. Standing eye to eye, without a paper shield to hide behind, he watches you carefully. Your desperation is all-consuming as you scramble around the infirmary, trying to contain the cruel sorrows that burst from within you. They overflow, they _flood_ ; and all you can do is cup your fingers around the hollow in your chest and watch the anguish seep through them.

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Levi realises that it is not grief that he is witnessing.

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It is humiliation.

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“You don’t know?” He repeats, voice low and gentle and even just a tad bit _pitying_.

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”No,” you stand abruptly, having waxed the floor clean. He stays crouched, opting to watch you sharply.

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“—But I’m doing okay. I’m getting on with it.” You try, aiming for a bright smile. It looks pained and uncomfortable on your lips, like a mask that is ill-fitting.

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Levi wonders who it is that you’re trying to convince.

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“I told you,” he begins softly—softer than he ever has before. “—To be honest with me. I don’t want to know how you’re functioning. I want to know how you’re _feeling_.”

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A pregnant, poignant silence engulfs the two of you. Levi stands, ignoring the dull ache in his leg, and looks at you.

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_You did this._ Something whispers to him from the back of his mind. It echoes and ricochets off of the walls of his skull, splintering bone and lodging itself in brain.

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_It was all me._

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For a moment, he expects for you to lie again and maintain the breezy, beautiful facade that you have so intricately, so desperately crafted. Instead, you crumble.

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”I wouldn’t know where to begin.” Your voice catches on each syllable weakly as a senseless smile stretches at your cheeks.

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“The start.” He offers, quietly.

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He notices the clench of your fist, that wet, pink tongue of yours slipping out once more and an indescribable, excruciating look twisting your features.

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”I don’t know when it all began—uh, before or after—it’s all—“

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He swallows the impatience that bubbles in his throat down, locks away the dry, snide sense of humour that has kept him going for so long and, instead, tries to smile.

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”Whatever comes to mind. Don’t hold back.” Is all he says, almost wincing at how tightly he speaks. 

You’re quiet for a few pensive seconds before taking a silver, rusting key out of your pocket. 

”I think that I’m done here. Do you, uh...want to walk with me?” Your voice is meek, almost flustered sounding.

He wants to be angry. He wants to confront you on why you’ve been ignoring him. Instead, he nods and decides that he _would_ like to.

~

”There's...something especially beautiful about the sunset when it’s summertime, don’t you think?” You murmur, eyes firmly raised to meet the lazily drooping summer sun.

”I’ve never thought about it.” He states, a little more tersely than he’d like but you just nod vacantly, as though immersed in a different reality to his own, the heat of the sun being the only thing you share.

You look saddened by his words, mouth flattening out into a ridiculous line. He envies you, for being able to wear your emotions so openly and despises you for not doing so. 

”But, you’ve been outside of the walls. Have you never stopped to look around you and see what’s there? Appreciate it?”

Your words bother him, not because he was completely unprepared for this topic of conversation but, because it is so telling of his character. Shallow. Violent. Superficial. Blood-thirsty. He’d rather soak up scorching steam than the rays of the sun. He’s okay with that side of him, it’s always existed and has accounted for his brilliant, awe-inspiring success as a military Captain.

But this same ruthless, animal part of his soul has led to his greatest failures as a human being—Levi Ackerman, who shivers and shakes and is so utterly afraid from inside.

”My missions are all that matters to me.” You seem to understand his words, perhaps more so than Levi himself, because the look you give him is utterly penetrating.

”Is that what it’s like?” You ask quietly, mildly; and more to yourself than Levi. He suddenly feels quite stupid.

Is that’s what it’s like to be a soldier of a failing, dying nation? To not feel the warm breeze across your skin in favour of scorching, blistering steam? To die in the mouth of a Titan, with last the sight you ever see being the clear, azure sky you ignored in life? To live a life that depends on the certainty of death?

He tires of this intrusive, oppressive small-talk. Levi decides to break through it, even if it means slicing himself up into a million little pieces in the process.

”Why did you ignore me?”

You tense, pausing almost imperceptibly in your short, delicate strides. Levi drinks the sight of you in: the sun bathing you in a golden, ethereal glow, prettily shaped lips curving in thought and eyes blinking calmly and he thinks to himself that he’s never seen you look sadder.

His throat dries when he realises how _beautifully_ you wear it.

“I didn’t know what to say.” you begin with strangely even tone. “—I looked forward to your letters, they—a lot of the time—they were the highlight of my day but, after a while I just went blank,”

You pause and Levi can see your internal struggle. It’s prevalent in the creases around your mouth, the flickering of your eyes and pained, high sigh that rolls from your column of your throat as though it has been trapped in there for years.

”—I wanted to see if you’d continue to write to me.”

An experiment? A game? Levi considers the possibilities—your intentions—carefully, but when he looks at your bright, somber eyes, he finds not a single shred of malice.

”Why?”

”I’m pathetic,” you smile humourlessly although your words are frighteningly apathetic. “—And pathetic people need constant reassurance. It’s nice to have someone check up on you, even when you don’t do the same for them.”

There is a sonorous quality to your voice that Levi believes could have brought a softer man to tears. He runs his pale fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth of the strands tickle his flesh.

”Have you run out of questions to ask?” Your letters were always full of questions and uncertainty and doubts and _please, teach me how to live again—_

The first time, Levi had answered out of guilt. The second time, Levi had answered of out respect. The third time, Levi had answered out of fondness.

He found that it was impossible to stop himself after that.

He’s startled by the panicked beating of his heart, thrumming and thrashing wildly as though to break through the confines of his ribcage and split his skin. _This is fear, isn’t it?_ he thinks, a sudden breathlessness overtaking him.

_Say yes Say no. Say it. Say it now. Say—_

”I have more.” You swallow thickly, tongue licking the sides of your mouth anxiously and he tries to fixate on that wet, nervous muscle as opposed to the booming in his chest.

Part of him wants to be absolved of this responsibility. The other, a gentler and wearier facet of him, understands that Levi has bestowed this responsibility onto himself and it is what he owes Fischer, who he desecrated for his own survival.

”Then ask me. I told you, I don’t leave my friends behind.” And a vindictive, rasp of a voice whispers _yes, you do_.

You turn and set your eyes on Levi. His voice is cool, oppressive in its collected tone but his eyes—they are desperate and pleading.

You smile at him, a meagre and sweet thing, before parting your lips and—

“People don’t just die like that, do they? Especially not soldiers. They’re brave and strong and they live for glory so, tell me, how is it that they just disappear into thin air. Isn’t it anti-climatic?” You swallow roughly, eyes downcast and lips curving slightly.

There is something unhinged about your smile, bleeding into the calmness of your words.

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It eats away at Levi like a wriggling, writhing, slimy, squirming parasite in his gut.

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”War is anti-climatic. Everything that happens is sudden and death... happens so much more quickly than you think it would.” He tries to explain as patiently as he can but the words come out all wrong, coated in a low, thick, broken baritone.

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”But that’s not... _fair._ ” you state plainly. The grief is in your eyes, it’s in your frowning mouth and gritted teeth. 

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There is something comical about your words. They are endlessly childish yet contain a tragedy that feels distinctly mature. Levi feels a sad grimace tug at his lips.

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”I know.”

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You breathe roughly, as though the act is painful to you and demands every last ounce of your energy. Levi understands, after seeing the pained knotting together of your brows, that it does.

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“It’s not fair. It’s _cruel_. He should still be here and he’s not.”

The path before you bends into a a few stretches of rural road, before reaching the town centre. The sky is clear above and the clouds are content in their lethargy and Levi yearns for rain. 

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”I know.” He tries tentatively, afraid to tap the fragile glass of your heart any further. You look at him with something he can’t put into words—something akin to molten, enraged jealousy and it leaves his mind spinning. 

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”People can’t just come and go like that, it’s—it’s not right. I was...I was the reason that he enlisted,” your voice grows louder, stronger, angrier than before.

”—He did all of that for me. Because I come from that broken _shithole_ Shiganshina. So, why am I here and he isn’t? What gives me the right?”

Head snapping over at Levi, you face him with a fiercely questioning look. 

“—What gives _me_ the right?” You snarl, eyes glazing over and Levi is both terrified and disturbed.

Your voice is a gravelly, raspy, ragged mess; a sound that belongs to a much older woman, a woman that has lived through, suffered more, fought for more.

And Levi—Levi doesn’t know how to grieve. He has never had the luxury of dwelling over emotion, to fixate in the past because humanity needs him and time is fleeting. Levi throws himself into work—into battle— and _kill kill kills_ until his sorrows are buried under bucketfuls of blood. 

Something within Levi sparks and burns then _blazes_. He understands now that it is guilt, gently crushing, that has brought the two of you together.

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”It isn’t your fault.” Is all he can manage, stopping to put a coaxing, kind hand on your shoulder. 

You stare at the ground, entire body stilling. He waits for your response, squeezing your shoulder just a fraction of an inch tighter.

”Then whose fault is it?”

An excruciating tiredness rings through your tone and Levi realises that hot, heavy tears are beginning to fall from your eyes as the dirt beneath you darkens. 

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_He hears the howling of the wind, a thump and the sickening crunch of human bone._

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Shame wraps it’s heavy fingers across his throat and _presses_.

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Levi does the only thing he can things of: coils his arms around you and brings you close. It feels both natural and unnatural, a betrayal and an attempt at redemption and he hates how you smell of sweet berries and sunshine.

You sink into his embrace limply, as though your bones have broken and your muscles have shrivelled up into nothingness. 

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”—You want to know something, Levi? This is....the first time...I’ve cried since he died. What kind of... _wife_ doesn’t cry for her dead husband?” Your body shakes as you work contain a succession of dry sobs. 

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”A brave one.” 

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”A coward,” you smile self-depricatingly. “—He would’ve cried for me...” You rasp, voice trembling. Levi tenses, neck craning downwards at an uncomfortable angle.

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He hates this. He hates the tears and the intimacy and the closeness and the regret and that same cruel voice that had spoken to him earlier speaks up again—

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_Isn’t this what you wanted?_

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Didn’t he want to be the broad, comforting shoulder to cry on? To be the one who leads you through the dark, to be the one who fishes you from the murky waters of grief?

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Didn’t he want to repent for his sin?

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”Why is it so hard? I-I sat on that empty fucking grave, knowing that he suffered when he died because—because there wasn’t even a single _shred_ of his skin left to bury—and still, I didn’t shed a single tear. It hurt so badly but I—I went home and made dinner for the two of us and set it out like he was there to eat it! What the hell is wrong with me?”

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Levi winces, feeling his mouth dry. Then, he glazes over and the Captain, that militant, distant side of him takes the reins because Levi Ackerman is too emotional to deal with situations like this; his judgement is far too easily clouded—

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“You stupid, brave, _beautiful_ brat,” he looks at you, taking in your bright, red-rimmed eyes and finds that his tongue unties itself and speaks without restraint.

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“—Don’t do this. Don’t punish yourself when you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s hard to mourn, I know that, but it’s even harder to mourn someone when you don’t feel like they’re even gone. You didn’t—didn’t even have a body to bury. How could you blame yourself for dealing with it this way?” He tries to maintain that offensively clear monotone but it catches, it catches in his throat and dies into a breathy, pleading rasp. 

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“I just want him back.” You whisper into his tunic.

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”I know.”

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The sky glows, incandescent oranges blurring into luscious purples and as he stares into it, he silently asks you for forgiveness.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! First and foremost, I would like to apologise for how long it’s taken to get this chapter up. My health has been incredibly bad recently and I’ve only just started to feel better.
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe and is happy. If anyone wants to talk then I’m here for you :)
> 
> Comments, kudos and criticism is welcome :D let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see within the story!


	3. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You begin to take up a self-destructive habit. Levi struggles to get you back on track and, in the process, learns something startling.

Did not humanity create the cage it is trapped in?

” _—And in these walls, rejoice and find solace! For you are protected_!”

Did they not fashion walls out of rubble and stone? Did they not turn the tragic carcasses of their homes into their protection? Did they not stack stone upon stone until before them, stood the grim gates of heaven?

” _—In stone and mortar, we have been saved. It is a gift from God, one we would be foolish to ignore!_ ”

What right have they to complain of entrapment when it is them who has locked themselves in?

There is something infinitely enticing about blasphemy. A sad sort of happiness can be found in taking a hammer to the walls. It is both liberating and punishing, to hear the mighty protector of mankind crack under the pressure, until you break through it entirely and find the other side: bleak and bare and holding no promise. 

_“I hate them, so much.” He shook his head, gliding in and out of the bustling markets. Your hand was safely clutched in his own as you trailed behind him._

_“The preachers?”_

_”The walls.” Will scrunched his nose together, as though an acrid taste lay upon his tongue._

_With a desperate discretion, you increased your pace and lowered your tone._

_”They’re there to keep us safe.” You replied simply._

_”Yeah. Brilliant job, they’ve done.” He grit out, before stilling in realisation. His eyes, when they looked upon you, were softened with pity and regret._

_You wanted to spit in them._

Mankind are rapacious little vultures. They cannot be happy with what they have because it is in their nature to thirst for more. Why take an inch when they can have a mile? The world is vast and wide; it has been stolen from humanity’s clutches and turned into something unattainable and morbid. But mankind, too, is morbid. It doesn’t scare them. 

_Gluttons_. 

And the Scouts—why, they are the worst, most gluttonous vultures of them all. You know it well and know it is true because you had been wed to one.

_“I don’t understand you,” you try to keep your voice even and diplomatic but it crumbles in your throat. “—I don’t need you to do this and I haven’t asked you to, either. If you want to prove to me that you’re brave and strong or—what-whatever it is that you’re trying to prove by doing this—then stay!”_

_Your sense of intuition was cruel. Something within always you knew this would happen. Will, like everyone else, was fleeting—a sweet, young love that could never come to fruition. You were destined to be alone._

_Azure eyes were hardened with resolve. The look in his face was so pained—so intense—you feared that he would die right before your very eyes._

_”It’s not about that! It’s about freedom! When the walls broke, there was no one to protect you and you lost everything—“_

_”I know what I lost. I don’t need you to tell me.”_

_He sighed with such a force that his entire body shook with it, like the fragile string of a twanging instrument. With long, gentle fingertips, he tried to pull you in close. You only recoiled from his touch as though he was a sickly, desperate leper._

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_“I’ve lived an easy life,” he begun, voice calm and breathy like wind chimes caught in a breeze. “—compared to you, I’ve never struggled once. I was born into money, I never went to bed hungry and If I wanted to, I could follow in Father’s footsteps and become the next town mayor,” ___

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_But. There was always a but._

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_”-But, I know that it won’t make me happy. Not unless I make at least one Titan pay for what happened to you. I’ve realised, Sunny, that there’s a war going on outside of these walls and I can’t stay blind to it.”_

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_”You can.”_

Voice breaking slightly, you lowered your head. He lifted it high and, this time, you didn’t stop him. 

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_”I can’t, Sunny. I want you to be able to go back home one day and I want to come with you. I want our children to be able to visit the place where their mother grew up and feel proud, inspired, that you took back what belonged to you.”_

_“We won’t have any children if you do this!”_

_He squeezed your jaw lightly, affectionately, but the limpid sternness in his eyes remained._

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_”There’s no talking you out of this, is there?_

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_He shook his head no._

 _You wished that you had died when the walls broke down, that cool summer evening._

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You don’t understand them.

The Scouts always leave the walls courageously and plentiful in numbers, like a pride of lions preparing to hunt. But you’re a nurse and are always the first one to greet them upon return, when they can’t speak because they’ve bitten their own tongues off in fear; when their limbs are blood-soaked and twisted out of shape and fragments of bone are left in their places.

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( _Where’s your gallantry now_?) You can’t help but think, in the solemn privacy of your own mind. 

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And you hate it, you hate that Will was stupid enough to die, you hate how bitter you’ve become because of it, you hate the scout’s misguided optimism and your brooding, cruel pessimism because you know that if anyone can save humankind it’s them.

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You see it in Levi. You see a future in his lethargic strength and muscled flesh and strong grip and thirst for blood. He’s a warrior, right down to the very marrow of his bones, and you want to keep him close to you forever.

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He’s everything you need—everything mankind needs— and, somehow, not enough.

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Because Levi is simply strong. He can’t rebuild walls, he can’t bring back the deceased and he can’t undo suffering. Will, your Will—precious and pale and so fucking sweet—remains dead, no matter how many titans Levi slaughters.

So you settle for things that could never compare. You settle for the consoling, soft looks he gives you when he thinks you’re not looking. You soak in the coolness of his fingertips against your scarred palms and falter at his low, airy timbre when he bids you a good evening after long walks.

In Levi, you find a perverse sense of normalcy.

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And it makes you so fucking angry.  


_~_

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Hange rants about her plans to conduct her next greatest experiment, mouth gaping wide open and eyes bulging animatedly. Levi takes a bite out of his military ration. 

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Funding is running out and he isn’t sure if the higher-ups (those stout bastards lazing about in Stohess) are unwilling to funnel any more money in for future expeditions. His head aches distantly but he hasn’t the energy nor the heart to tell Hange to shut up. He takes another bite. 

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From the corner of his eye, he catches a tunic with a red medical cross stitched over it.

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“—Isn’t it interesting, how titans don’t have any internal organs, no real need to eat, but they do it regardless? If I could just get close enough—“ 

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He doesn’t know why it takes him by surprise, really. The survey corps has many different factions, a workforce that goes beyond the frontline. Levi is aware of the on-site infirmary. Where else would medical staff eat if not for the canteen?

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You sit, alone, whilst spooning a dull, vegetable soup into your mouth. The fingertips of your other hand drum the wood of your table. A strange, nauseating discomfort overtakes Levi—a feeling of perversion—as though he’s watching you do something terribly intimate and off bounds. 

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Levi, above all things, is a creature of habit. Slipping into a new routine is almost always agonising but once he has the logistics down, he will stick to it like prayer. Long walks down winding paths and short, sweet visits in the infirmary are where his confidence lies. He doesn’t ever recall seeing you here and it irritates him to think that he’d miss someone so...

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_Important_?

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Is that what you are to him? He thinks it over for a long moment before coming to the conclusion that _yes_ , you are important to him. Levi is an admittedly violent and troubled man but by no means is he a liar—he had meant it when he called you his friend.

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Through grief, smeared ink and guilt, he and you have created something both comfortable and unpredictable.

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There are days where you are silent and brooding, eyes cold with regret, and Levi adapts by becoming quieter himself. On those days, his intestines tie into a cruel knots only to untie and repeat the same process over and over and over again. The guilt is nauseating but he finds redemption in gentle brushes of the shoulder and small, patient smiles and _take a deep breathe Sun, it’s going be be okay—_

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And on other days, you indulge in smooth, boisterous humour and Levi can scarcely believe that you’re the same person from the day before. Your laugh, on these days, is infectious and childish and comes in waves like water rippling after a stone skips over it. Levi likes these days more, finding himself restraining unbecoming toothy grins but you always, _always_ manage to find laughter in his eyes. You’ve pointed out that they have a habit of crinkling at the corners, much to his dismay.

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It’s strange, he thinks, seeing you sit so serenely and doing none of those things.

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He wants to turn away from you and tune into Hange’s incessant ramblings. He finds it impossible. 

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Pausing with your spoon tilted near your mouth, an intuitive frown crosses your lips. You seem to sense that there are eyes on you, head turning both left and right and behind you to catch the culprit.

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And then you do.

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You stare at Levi, blink once, and _smile_.

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“Mm, don’t you think so, Levi?” Hange asks, voice muffled as though he’s underwater and she’s high above, on dry land.

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She follows his line of sight and Levi swears that her glasses _glint_ at what she finds. He gives you a quick, indiscriminate nod.

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If Hange wants to say something then she doesn’t.

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~

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“You look tired.” You quip mildly, eyes focused on sanitising some rather terrifying looking metal instruments.

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“Do I? I guess I can thank shitty glasses for that.” He drawls nonchalantly, catching a few nosy, girlish nurses staring. They turn hot with embarrassment but you pay them no mind.

There is a distracted edge to everything you do today. You fumble through drawers, collecting equipment you have no use for only to haphazardly return them to their rightful places; you soak metal in water and search for the perfect soap and Levi cringes at just how _messy_ you can be when something is on your mind. 

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“What did she do now?” You inquire dryly. “It can’t be that bad if you’re still willing to eat lunch with her every day.” Peeking up at him, you flash a weary smile that is gone before it really truly appears.

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Levi, suddenly, feels incredibly dirty. 

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Running a finger through his blunt locks, he feels dandruff and oil buildup despite having showered only hours ago. He feels sweat and dead skin cells collect and clot on the surface of his skin and _fuck I’m fucking filthy I’m disgusting I’m wrong—_

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He swallows the inexplicable urge to scrub himself raw. Instead, he snorts airily.

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”Just her usual ranting. Tch. Kept me up late tryna teach me Titan science. If I didn’t go so far back with her, I’d think she’d want to fuck them instead—“ he pauses, mind reeling at the overwhelming itch building underneath his flesh.

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He finds grounding in playful, pathetic teasing. The bucket of soap water in your hands beckons him silently. Levi clears his throat and divert his attention from it.

Your brow twitches as though perturbed by the sound.

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”— _Everyday_ , Sunny? What’s that all about? You’ve been keeping an eye on me?” He tries to keep his tone as light as possible but the words seem to be all wrong.

( _Fuck,_ he thinks, _I’m awful at this_ ).

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”No more than you’ve been keeping an eye on me.” You rub at your eyes, which are softly rimmed with fatigue and sunken with solemn discretion. There is something self-deprecating, bitter even, within your words.

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You’ve come so far and, yet, haven’t moved on at all. That’s okay, Levi supposes. Everyone grieves differently and pacing is always personal—it could take years before you finally begin to feel like yourself again.

Finding comfort in nostalgia is not without cost. It is picking apart the wounds of the past, tearing open old, firm stitches and uncrossing wiring that is embedded within your flesh and watching—feeling—your blood and pain and suffering gush forward but it can be so _liberating_ when you’ve bled out, numb to the touch.

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Levi is not ignorant of his shortcomings. He knows he is a selfish man and, like all selfish people do, he considers his own desires before your own. He wants to see you with a flower perched behind your ear and a wide, sweet smile stretching out your lips. Enticing. Breathless. A sketch brought to life.

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He knows it’s unrealistic to expect you to ever be what you used to. You’ve grown and matured and _suffered_. What he saw in the drawing was a girl and what stands before him now is a woman—he knows that—but it’s strange to watch someone who smiles with still eyes.

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It’s painful to watch someone who has dedicated their life to healing others, yet walks with gaping, untreated wounds. 

It’s _difficult_ to watch someone shake with anger and smile in jest all at once.

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“Armin!” Your attention snaps from Levi to a skinny, scrawny blond thing that appears to be nursing a broken arm.

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Whilst ushering him to a bed, Levi notices how baggy your tunic is on you and the uncomfortable jut of your shoulder blades. You’re drowning in it, the material overpowering you completely and Levi wonders if you bother to eat anything other than lunch.

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”What happened?” You ask, tenderly, and Levi feels incredibly out of place.

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” _Annie_ -“ He croaks and you nod your head in peculiar understanding.

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There is a maternal softness about you upon looking at this boy. Subtly, perhaps subconsciously, you thread your fingers into his thick hair and stroke it flat. The boy nuzzles into your touch.

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Levi can’t think of a time where you’ve looked more beautiful—healing and comforting, all at once—and then grimaces because _why would I even think that?_

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The itching sensation only persists as though there are insects—little spiders and centipedes and things that _bite_ —inside of his flesh that are poking at the surface and trying to crawl out.

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“Oi. I’m going now.” He informs you dryly, eyes flickering to the whimpering mess that is _Armin_ whilst pointing to the door with his thumb.

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You’ve crouched down and have already begun to assess the damage with a supernatural quickness. Levi’s voice is sobering and snaps you out of your work. The kid also pays attention but his stare seems vacant. Hm. Must be his broken twig arm, Levi reasons.

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“Bye.” He nods, halting in his footsteps to regard the boy.

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”Get well soon kid.” 

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Armin groans a sloppy _thank you, Sir_ with his eyes screwed shut in pain. Levi notes the relaxed slump of your shoulders when you think he isn’t there.

He showers immediately after, scrubbing his skin until it bleeds.

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~

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You see little vestiges of Will in Armin.

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The golden, silken hair, the thoughtful reticence, a soft-spoken and lilting voice—the all-consuming, overwhelming need to prove his worth.

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”Why would you want to...?” You gawk, voice high and strained.

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“My friends are joining. I need to be there for them.” He answers simply, azure eyes still and clear.

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”Your friends...you’d throw everything away for them?” You repeat, a ridiculous urge to cry wracking your body, weaving itself into your soul like stitches, and you swear that death follows you, no matter where you are.

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He pauses in consideration, eyes downcast and pensive. Then he nods, firmly and soldierly. 

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”Tell me about them.” You ask.

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So, he tells you. He speaks of Mikasa, the last of the orientals—suave and silent and inhumanly strong but infinitely fragile almost all of this. Eren, who she pursues tirelessly, because he’s pigheaded and short-tempered but is excruciatingly determined and Armin wishes he had the same iron resolve. He recounts his childhood adventures: languid days spent stretching underneath the sun, the earthy heat of firewood and tales of the sea—a vast, whirling body of water that goes on forever.

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”—I know that I’m unlikely to survive. I’m not strong or fast or even brave. But I want to see the ocean with them. I have to believe that I can.”

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You smile a wide, crimson smile and hold his hand in your own. The clock ticks dully behind you, signalling the late hour and the falling sun and _it’s not your shift go home to your empty, cold house and sleep in your empty, cold bed—_

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At his words, there is a terrible anger and bleak understanding; your heart combusts into flames as a numbing, slow, rational ice freezes your mind. There is more to life than stone walls. You can’t fault him for wanting to look beyond them. But then something troubled and cruel creeps through you and sweeps away all logical thought because _he’s so young why is he throwing it all away—_

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You’re sick of people wasting their lives in the name of a freedom that mankind will never achieve.

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“Okay, Armin. Get some rest now, sweetheart. If you need anything just give Lorraine a shout, she’s the nurse on duty.” Squeezing his hand in consolation, you watch him slide underneath the covers.

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You trudge home with only the pale moon to keep you company. First, you push your front door shut. Next, set your bag down on the dining table, take a seat. Finally, you let out the discordant, vicious _roar_ that you have stifled all day. 

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~

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It’s lunchtime so Levi gets himself a steaming bowl of vegetable stew with only moderately stale bread on the side and a large canteen of freshly pumped water. He then locates the table you’re sitting on and slides right opposite you.

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You don’t even look at him.

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“Well, hello to you too.” He tries to joke but words fall flat on his tongue.

The spoon in your hands swirls around your bowl, broth sloshing and threatening to spill around the edges.

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Fuck, you look even skinnier now. 

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”Hey, Levi.” You smile in response, a tight quivering of your lips that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

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The pleasantry doesn’t last long and, eventually, you return to your cool bowl of broth.

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Levi observes you in relative silence, tearing off smaller, softer pieces of bread and biting into them. You don’t speak, you don’t eat, you don’t do a single thing and Levi wants to believe that it’s just one of _those_ days but it just feels so much worse.

He notices the clench of your jaw, the painful way your muscles crease and jut at his every movement. Irate. Despairing. Lonely. Blinking steadily, he takes a swig of his water. 

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He feels as though you’re not with him. What lies in your place is a pale, skeletal imitation that could never compare to the real, lively, lovely you. A cruel nausea that eats away at his appetite forms in his gut. Levi soon understands why after taking another good, long look at you.

He is sickened by your brazen negligence ( _Why are you shrinking in front of my fucking eyes_?)

He is angered by your subtle masochism ( _Don’t look so fucking proud of yourself_.)

He is touched by your fragile attempts at normalcy ( _So tired and she still bothers to fucking smile for me.)_

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Could it be that this is intentional? 

“Are you gonna eat that?” He tries, conversationally. 

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The pensive furrow of your brows only deepens. A sigh rumbles from inside of you. It’s long and breathy and arduous, as though there is dust trapped inside of your lungs as opposed to air.

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“I’m not all that hungry.” You place the spoon down and wet the corners of your mouth with a sliver of pink tongue.

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The last of his appetite withers at the sight.

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“Sunny,” he begins delicately. “You need to eat.” He cocks a slender brow and swears that he can _hear_ your teeth scrape together in response under the dull clanging of cutlery and chatter.

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“And I will. Later.”

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”Will you?”

His eyes narrow, rapacious and unwavering. He searches your face for the truth, his bone white fingers aching to brush the stray hairs out of your eyes so he can get a better look at you.

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You’re so incredibly sweet in your loneliness and Levi has always taken a liking to such flavours. 

“I just said that, didn’t I?” Your eyes harden, voice steadying into a snarl. For a moment, you look truly enraged. 

Silence. A look of realisation, startled and flushed, flickers upon your face. You work to ease the tension. Levi says nothing. 

The military Captain in him is revolted by your outburst. But, Levi— the real, vulnerable him— is able to understand it. He reasons, that you are no solider. You haven’t been hardened through rigid military routine and instead, rely on pretence and prettiness to conceal the ugliness within you.

The mask that you insist on wearing is beginning to crack before his eyes and real, raw slivers of emotion are seeping through. He rejoices, once more, because he gets to see that exquisite sadness that first drew him to you. 

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With a childish violence, you grip your spoon, dip it haphazardly into your broth and shovel it into your mouth.

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”There! Happy now?” Your voice is lighter now, playful around the edges and Levi is just so completely and utterly fucking _confused_.

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He weighs up his options gingerly, considers his next words almost painfully, as though they are clay around his aching fingertips—shining and and pretty and malleable.

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There is something inside of him that is maddened by the sight of you. It wants to claw at your tunic and pull you in close and ask you why you are so insistent on defiling your body in such a way. It seethes at your selfishness, at your inclination for self-sabotage and _don’t pretend like you know don’t know hunger, you grew up poor, you went to bed hungry, you know the feeling so don’t pretend like you don’t—_

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Levi opts for a dry witted joke that he forgets, only moments after saying it. It makes you laugh though, low and hearty and something akin to the low crackling of fire when it begins to burn out.

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He looks at your bony wrists and the slender, uncomfortable jut of your neck and the subtle frown that appears after your dimpled facade of a smile fades away. He thinks back to the still, dead form of his mother and the pungent scent of rotting flesh and how even the flies didn’t stick around for her because there was no meat on her bones, nothing to eat and savour and desecrate.

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Levi looks at the thinning flesh of your body and decides that there is no way in hell that he is losing you too.

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~

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Levi sends you chocolates a few days after your impromptu ‘lunch date’.

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They come in a plain brown tray and in different shapes, stupid little strawberries and thin crescent moon shapes and even a few silly love hearts that gain you a few questionable looks from your colleagues. That bastard. He must’ve come in while you were giving Armin his sponge bath.

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Attached to the bag is a small note which reads ‘ _God, how much did I have to pay for a few stinking chocolates? Enjoy them, Sun._ ’

Looking down at the little neat row of treats, a tidal wave of emotion crashes over you. Gratitude, affection, tiredness, sadness, _anger_ , confusion—it’s never ending. 

The amusement is what hits you last. The miserable little captain that you hate and hold so close to your heart had gone out of his way to gift you something and it makes you break out into a wide smile. He’s so wonderfully thoughtful. 

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You place one on your tongue. It’s filled with a pocket of caramel, indulgent and sweet and completely bland.

Bland. Flat. Tasteless. Revolting. You want so badly to enjoy the them. Instead, you give the rest to Armin. 

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~

He feels the insects crawl through his bloodstream, their antennas poking at the surface level skin and scraping against his bones. 

_Repent_ , they tell him. 

He doesn’t know how to. 

~ 

Levi brushes his thumb softly against your jaw, eyes half-lidded and mouth softly parted. He speaks to you delicately, slowly yet it all feels so heavy and forced. 

“I’m worried about you, brat.” And with those words come terrifying realisation—that something is very very wrong with you and Levi can see it, clear as day.

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You are only a brat in times of confusion; when the misery of existence boils over and spills everywhere and Levi, who has never coped well with mess, is forced to wipe you clean. 

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You don’t realise how much weight you’ve lost until he points it out to you. He tells you that he fears for your health, that you only grow smaller and more meek and that with each passing day, you become a little more distant.

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Levi drops the cool steadiness of his expression and, instead, is alight with such bright, beautiful honesty that, for a bleak moment, you feel that he is only one who has ever understood you. Even Will, precious, self-sacrificing Will, could never compare to him.

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The thought is equally as horrifying as it is shocking.

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Nausea, wet and cold, consumes you. The band of your wedding ring tightens, constricting the bone of your finger until you’re sure it’s broken.

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You lash out. Screaming and shouting and sneering with all the malice you can muster, you shatter the glassy, fragile friendship that has kept you going.

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”Feel better now?” He asks plainly and it makes you scream even louder.

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And when you’re all alone in your empty shell of a house, lying in a bed that is meant for two people but only rests one—you begin to laugh because the fog has cleared and you have never seen yourself more clearly.

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You are no stranger to starvation. Shiganshina was a poor land that housed even poorer people. The feeling of an empty, aching stomach was something that you had become well acquainted with from the earliest of your days. 

There is an exhilarating quality in starving yourself to the bone. To feel your muscles shrivel up into nothingness, to feel your limbs hang heavily from your body as though they don’t belong to you, to feel the last few embers of consciousness you have burn out and feel darkness envelope you—only to replenish yourself and repeat it all—is nothing less than _sublime_.

But you haven’t starved in years. Not when Will had began to spoon-feed you himself because mother and father had died and your home was destroyed and nothing _mattered_ anymore. 

It makes you laugh, ugly and toothily and angrily, because old habits truly die hard and even amongst all of your efforts to keep your head above water—to function and feel all at once—your own mind has betrayed you.

It has starved you. It has convinced you that are on the brink of death.

Is bereavement truly so paralysing? That it has flayed your most base, primal instincts?

You try to live whilst your body is intent on death. A slow, perfect, poetic suicide. God, you’ve always loved poetry and perhaps, in another life, you could have written your own.

And Gently gently cruelly cruelly, it hits you that you already are.

What could be more poetic than dying in the way that you’ve lived? Empty and without repletion; weak and without purpose. It’s a silly sort of poem, one that drags on for too long and ends much too abruptly—it’s a sad poem but _hey_ , haven’t those always been your favourite?

Then, you think of Levi who is a very different type of poem. Blunt and coarse and not-so-lengthy but lovely nonetheless.

 _Shit_ , you think. _He’s beautiful_. 

He’s beautiful and you’ve pushed him away.

~

Levi knows that time is a powerful healer so that is what he gives you. 

He watches you during the lunch hour from a distance. Your cheeks puff out as you spoon too-big bites into your mouth, chewing for bizarrely long periods until he can _see_ the ache in your jaw.

”Why?” He asks himself when his heart warms at your attempt at self-care ( _Or is it redemption_?)

He has transcended guilt now and moved into bolder, more dangerous territories—a deep fondness that leaves him aching and breathless and hurting because he, the great military Captain, can’t seem to protect you.

He rationalises, after a moment, that he can’t protect you from yourself.

You are a friend—his best friend, perhaps, because together you have forged this friendship through steely regret and red-hot vulnerability. That being acknowledged, he understands that he must do everything he can hurting yourself any further.

He watches you eat and you know that he’s watching. Levi frowns, disappointedly, when mulling over the fact that time is, indeed, a healer but if that’s the case then why is he hurting so bad? 

~

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”Dinner?” You repeat, lips frowning gently ( _gorgeously_ , he thinks before quietly reprimanding himself)

”I get to see you eat and we get spend some time together. We can cook it together, too. I don’t expect for you to do all the hard work.”

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Your lips curl sharply. He can’t tell whether it’s a smile or a scowl.

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“And to think, I believed you liked me for me,” you sigh melodramatically. “—Just say you want a roast chicken and go.” He snorts at your airy tone. 

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“It’s a tragedy, isn’t it?” He quips, rolling his eyes. “—Now what do you say?”

You pause, hesitantly, and he catches that nervous, wet tongue slip out. Levi fixates on it for a moment longer than he would like to like to. 

“Trying to make up for ignoring me? Not that it wasn’t well-deserved.” You frown, eyes crinkling a little and he knows that despite your light tone, you were genuinely hurt by him. 

”Sun. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

”Okay!” You exclaim, hands held up in surrender. “Get off my back, you midget. When do you want to do this?” He grits his teeth at your words.

You tend to get away with saying things other people wouldn’t even dream of _thinking_.

”Next week. Tuesday.”

“Alright.” 

“Alright.”

The word hangs uncomfortably in the air and Levi notes the subtle, occasional parting of your mouth. There is something on your mind, feeding off of you like a parasite and Levi, no matter how desperate he is to rip it from you, waits for you to speak what is lodged in your mind.

“—Levi, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. A favour. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want to.”

Ah. There it is. Whatever you’ve been smothering under avoidant humour and dry sarcasm all for the past half hour is going to emerge to the surface.

”Tell me.” He nods slowly in a way that he hopes looks comforting.

”Tomorrow, I’m going to visit Will. I’d like it if you could...come with me.” You take a sip of water with a shaky sort of delicacy. Levi watches your fingers coil around your cup and the manicured neatness of your fingernails. 

Underneath the table, his fist balls up tightly. 

”Why do you want me there?”

You pause, momentarily, to collect your thoughts.

”I don’t know. I haven’t been to see Will for a long time and I, ” Rubbing your eyes as though something is stuck in it, you pause. Levi knows that it’s a ploy. You can’t bare to look at him whilst asking this. “—I just need the moral support.”

Something inside of Levi falters, weakens, softens and he becomes everything he was afraid of becoming. His tongue loosens, without thought, and he knows that he would say yes to anything that you asked.

There is a sad sort of intimacy in what you have requested. Out of all the people you know, friends and coworkers who you go back years with, you’ve decided to ask _him_ —the miserable military Captain who you can barely look at these days.

He feels strangely honoured by the gesture.

It’ll hurt, standing over that empty hole in the ground. He’ll feel his guilt devour him, tear through the flesh of his heart, but when he looks at your pleading, soft eyes, Levi finds that there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you and it _scares_ him.

”Okay. I’ll be there.” He monotones and feels his heart plunge into his stomach.

~

Levi questions himself often. He can never allow himself to grow idle and so he lives once a constant state of evaluation. He mulls over his work ethic, considers his skill and technique no matter how deeply it drains him. It’s routine. He’s used to that vigorous, violent train of thought.

However, he has very rarely questioned himself on what it means to have a friend.

There are times where he wonders if you are worth the effort. The pain. The humiliation. The remembrance of parts of himself that he’d rather forget. Levi’s years of the training and expertise have taught him to be analytical— to consider the costs and the rewards that come with every decision he makes. 

Sometimes, you seem to cost him more than you reward him with. The grief you carry is contagious, like some morbid, incurable disease. He hates being around you because he feels himself twisting and turning into some wretched imitation of you.

He hates your sourness and cruel silences because he feels himself become sourer and more silent than ever before. He hates the precarious nature of your moods because, these days, he can’t quite seem to understand his own emotions. There are days where Levi looks you in the eyes and feels helpless because he just doesn’t know how to fix you and in doing so, he would break himself.

But those funny, intrusive little thoughts tend to be washed away as quickly as they form because the way you make Levi _feel_ matters so much more. You can be kind and consoling and so unbelievably empathetic. You have retaught Levi of the humanity that had been lost upon him, soaked his bloody fingers acid rain and burned into them nothingness—all so they can regrow thicker and stronger than ever.

Wasn’t he the one who had betrayed your trust? Wasn’t he the one who had robbed you of closure? No, he owes you his company and kindness and dedication but moreso, he owes everything to Fischer—who was a true brother in arms.

”What do you fight for?” You ask him quietly, clutching a collection of white lilies in your palm. He looks at you and, of course, you don’t look look at him. 

A hazy, delirious sort of confusion fills Levi. The type that makes him wonder what he’s doing here—or if he even is. Nothing seems real anymore. Reality blurs into fantasy so easily, it’s difficult to tell the difference between the two. 

”For mankind’s liberation. To reclaim lost lands—“ He begins, as though reading ink from his palm like a sloppy, stupid schoolboy.

He sees your expression darken from the corner of his eye, the summer sun bathing you in a gilded, glorious heat. In that moment, he likens you to those silly China dolls that Isabel used love so much. Beautiful but often in need of repair.

”Not _them_. I’m asking about you, Levi. Why do you fight?” You reiterate, looking up at him with wide, curious, endlessly sad eyes.

He’s quiet for a few moments.

”Dunno,” he begins dully. “—It’s all I’m good at.”

You simply nod, with tender comprehension, as though the words make any sense at all. Levi feels his mouth parch until it is cotton dry.

The rest of the walk is in relative silence, until you both reach a set of grand iron gates. He trails behind you as you push them open, not bothering to signal that you’ve reached the destination.

The path is long and grim and Levi wonders if any other of his comrades have been buried under these grounds. It’s terrifying and intimate all at once, feeling the grime and gravel beneath his feet. Levi feels like nothing less than a usurping imposter and _Shit,_ his skin is starting to itch again.

”We’re here.”

( _What is this?_ )

There are two gravestones, neatly aligned next to one another.

  
_’Here lies Martin Fischer: A beloved child who was made for Heaven’_. 

  
Levi resists the urge to vomit.  


”Come here, Levi.” You ask sombrely, placing vivid petals against grey stone. He shuffles closer before screwing his eyes shut and kneeling.

“You don’t have to kneel—“ You tap his knee, mindful of his aversion to dirt. 

”I do.” He grunts out, eyes sharp in disbelief.

Your child that you had written about so fondly, with the careful love that only a mother could possess, is _dead_.

Everyone you have _ever_ loved is dead.

Fuck, the nausea—the dirt on his suit—is all too much.

”Well. These are my boys,” you begin with a small smile. “—And guys, this is Levi! Will, you already know that but Marty doesn’t.” You talk to the stones with a calm, quiet excitement.

”Your son...” Is all Levi says and you, in your sweet, empathetic way, understand him completely.

”—Died a few months after his birth. He was sickly.” You explain patiently, gripping Levi’s hand in your own.

“I see.” He nods cooly, almost disgusted at his own aloofness.

His eyes move over to Fischer’s grave—or rather the block of stone—because it isn’t a grave, really. It’s empty and a waste of land because the real Fischer is probably a mess of limbs ensnared in a ball of gelatinous Titan puke. Levi restrains a groan and the bile that threatens to spill with it.

”So,” you begin softly whilst stroking the gravel of the gravestones. “—I’ve come here today to apologise. I haven’t been here much, these days, and I’m sorry for that. But, I’ve been busy with work and life and friendship.” You glance at Levi when speaking the last word.

His heart skips a beat.

”You talk to them?”

”It’s weird, isn’t it?” You quirk a brow. “—I don’t usually do it but a neighbour told me that it helped her when her father died. I was thinking of trying it out.”

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling the shorter sections of his undercut scratch against his palm.

“Doesn’t it embarrass you to do it in front of me?” He asks, quietly and watches you pout in thought.

”...No. I think...doing it in front of you is calming to me. At least I’m getting the words out this time,” Frowning lightly, you seem to be disturbed by your failed attempts at healing.

”—Does it embarrass you when I do it?” You ask, tenderly.  


Levi smiles, small and indiscriminate.

” No, of course not. Talk some more.” He asks and you’ve look at him in meek apprehension. He only nods towards the stone in encouragement.

”No, it’s fine. Silence is good too. Just being here is—“

” _Sunny_ ,” he says a little sternly, although with that same meagre smile. “— I like hearing you talk.”

His words are earnest. Levi has heard of such techniques for burying grief but has never seen the appeal of them. Speaking to the dead is counterproductive. They can’t hear you and it won’t erase their absence so, naturally, it is useless to him. But a senseless, boyish optimism overrides his previous judgements. He hopes this can work for you.

The breeze whistles lightly as you collect your thoughts.

”I...miss you guys? You breathe harshly out of your nose. ”— Yeah, I think that’s a good place to start. I miss you guys and—I- I can’t even...describe how much I miss you. There isn’t a moment where I’m not thinking about you. I guess that I don’t think that it’s fair.” Levi feels as though he’s been kicked in the ribs with each syllable you speak.

He squeezes your hand tightly, sweetly, and you look at him with heavy, deep-set eyelids. Your words come out in tight stutter. He can hear the ache in them but something within Levi tells him that this is a pivotal point in your mourning process. 

“What isn’t fair?” He asks, hoping that the pressure he’s putting on you isn’t overwhelming. It’s strange, that he is so well-acquainted with death yet knows nothing of lament.

”...That...” you begin with a precariously weak tone. “—I think, it’s because it’s like they only exist in my mind. It’s not fair that they’re gone bu...but the fact that there’s no proof they even existed is worse. Drives me insane.” You murmur quietly and Levi wishes that he could be more human, more emotive and consoling to you.

He can’t even even begin to fathom how his dull expressions and cruel lethargy bring you comfort.

“Oh. Keep going.”

”...Do you guys remember when I sent that letter out? That first letter? Seems like yesterday I was pregnant and my husband got a promotion and things were looking up...it’s strange, isn’t it? How none of that was meant to be. It makes me feel...I feel so... _Levi_ , I can’t think of the word.” You break off, turning to face him with a desperate, fragile look. He doesn’t know what to do for you.

”It’s alright. Take your time.” He offers gently.

This is all so bizarre. Never, in a million years, would he have imagined himself sat on the _not-grave_ of a comrade, hands intertwined with their widowed spouse and consoling her, _telling_ that he’ll be there to give her hope when all else is lost.

The blind are leading the blind, the hopeless are trying to summon hope and Levi—Levi can’t help but feel as though he’s partaking in something incredibly dangerous, something that will lead to his own demise.

“Betrayed.” You speak at last.

“—I feel betrayed but I don’t know who’s betrayed me. Who is it? Who did this to me?” You squeeze your eyes shut and Levi swallows roughly at the realisation that they’re completely dry.

Levi blinks cooly and screams within because he knows that his name is the answer.

“—First, it was my parents. Then all of my friends. Then my son. And now my husband. When...when is this going to stop? I can’t help but feel like I’m the problem, at this point. Like I’m the one who’s betrayed myself because I still go out of my way to pursue these people and form these relationships when I know that it won’t last! I don’t understand myself, anymore. Why does everything I touch _die_?” Your fingers still, although they remain on top of your son’s gravestone. You stare at them with somber, glassy confusion.

He only clutches your hand harder, wanting nothing more than to interject but you’ve created such a wonderful, sonorous rhythm with no pauses or stutters and it would be _blasphemy_ if he were to interrupt it.

”—I brought Levi here today because I’m selfish. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had and I invited him here, today, knowing that it would hurt him. And he _came_ , knowing that it would hurt. Isn’t that kind of him?” You begin to pick up your fingers, tracing over the letters of your son’s name fondly.

Levi notes that you have a habit of squeezing your son’s grave, as though it is the flesh of his tiny hands and not cold stone. It’s a sad mirroring of his own actions. His stomach lurches, thick chunks of today’s breakfast rising in his throat. He swallows.

”—I have one last person left. One. But he’s the strongest person in world so I can’t kill him. He’ll escape the curse. Isn’t that great? And you two,” your divided attention becomes solely focused on the gravestones. Levi sucks in an imperceptible, tight breath.

”—When it comes down to it, you’re just more bodies added to list of people that have left me. I shouldn’t be angry or upset or surprised but I am, I’m all of those things. I miss you both. I want you here so badly but I can’t help but feel pissed off because but _William_ , I told you that this would happen. Was it worth it? Did you die honourably? Did you win in the end?”

Your eyes widen then close. When they reopen, they contain flatness to them—something akin to the eyes of a dead fish before a knife comes down to gut it. Your voice trembles then steadies. There is a solemn detachment to you by the time you reach your sad crescendo.

It unnerves him. He almost wants you to cry, lose yourself in tears again, just so he can be sure of what you’re feeling

You stare at _his_ grave, a vengeful darkness flickering on your features for the slightest of seconds.

”—I’m sorry, Levi. It must be awkward for you to be here. I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t know what I was thinking.” You face him, shameful meekness clouding your expression. 

Levi embraces you until you can’t breathe.

He isn’t sure of how much time passes but, for a long while, the two of you sit on the grass in silence. It’s strangely, obscenely serene and, whilst Levi is still desperate to repent for what he has done to Fischer, he can’t help but feel his anxieties dull with your hands intertwined in his own.

“Do you want to say something?” You ask, voice hoarser than it was before.

He thinks it over. Then, he nods.

“Tch. I’m not much good at this,” he tries but you only tug on his hand tighter, rubbing cool circles against his skin. The sun shines brightly ahead and the birds chirp pleasantly. This is all so wrong.

He feels incredibly stupid for talking to a slab of stone but catharsis seems like a distant, unattainable dream and he craves it like a man starved.

”—You can rest. Don’t worry about Sun. She’s in good hands and I’ll look after her.” It’s lame and emotionally constipated but he tries so hard and the weight of his rib cage seems to be crashing down upon his heart because he’s _sorry sorry sorry so fucking sorry_.

Levi turns to look at you. Your smile is wide and genuine; all teeth and completely splitting. You look so proud of him, so touched by his failure at poignancy , and he can’t figure out _why_.

But as you smile at him with those pretty, full lips and those sad, cloudy eyes, Levi feels his chest go up in flames.

If he wasn’t in love with you before, then he sure as fucking hell is now.

~

Hange notices a nervousness about Levi.

His leg bounces with unrest, his fingers run through his hair, his eyes are cool and vacant—so much so that they betray him.

Hange would like to think that she knows Levi. They may not be the closest anymore and she may be more of a nuisance than a friend but she would like to think that she can look at him and understand what he is feeling. So she looks and looks and looks and looks until her eyes begin to ache and realises that she doesn’t understand him after all.

As she watches him half-heartedly respond to Erwin’s prompts and plans, his dark hair falling above his eyes (it’s never been this long before—has he forgotten to cut it?), Hange can’t help but feel as though it all comes back to you.

That strange, sad-looking woman that Levi can’t keep his eyes off of.

She prays that you are only a passing phase and that she, one day, will be able to understand Levi again.

~

”So, the Captain’s been loitering around here quite a bit...”

”I know. Who woulda thought Nurse Fischer would be besties with humanity’s strongest. He doesn’t come across as the personable type.”

”Grouchy little fucker. That’s for sure.”

”Ya can say that again.”

”Mm hm. He’s here almost everyday. What do they even talk about? What do you say to someone like that?”

”Beats me. Do ya think that they’re...involved?”

”Involved?”

”Yeah. She’s a widow, right? Lost her husband not too long ago actually and people deal with it differently. Some women’s interest in men kinda dies out and others become...more interested. He might a rebound. It makes sense...”

”You think Captain Levi is her rebound?”

”I just think said that, didn’t I?” 

”Ha. You’re awful.”

”Come on, it’s a very normal thing. Ya know what I’m talking about. The way he follows her around, the way way he looks at her...it’s _indecent_. There’s no way they haven’t been intimate.”

”I tell you what’s indecent. This conversation. Poor woman lost her husband and you’re coming up with conspiracy theories about who she’s fucking.”

You stand on the other side of the door, shrouded in darkness and mind spinning. Is that how your relationship with him is perceived? Indecent? Lecherous? Perverted? And how does he look at you in order for these women, your colleagues who you have worked alongside for years, to speak about you in such a way? 

”Ya know it’s true! You were the one who brought this up, ya know.”

”Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.” 

There have been so many instances in which Levi looks as though he hates you. His eyes sink in and glaze over, his lips curl at the sides and his glassy, cool exterior shatters for the slightest of moments as he allows for you to see the way you have drained him.

He can be cruel in his kindness. He can be vicious in his tenderness. But there is not an indecent bone in that man’s body. An animal sort of rage fills you at the idea.

You walk into the break room and collect your jacket, not sparing them a single glance. Their silence is coarse and guilty, their eyes are wide and startled.

Indecent.

You think that your relationship with him is perfectly innocent. A sweet, somewhat sad friendship but still one in which both parties can rely on each other without hesitation.

If Levi ever shows you the slightest sliver of weakness, you won’t hesitate to wrap your arms around him and tell him that it’s okay and perhaps _that_ is what is so indecent about it all. The unwavering willingness to be there for each other. The consolation found in touch. The need for it.

Levi’s gentle ministrations in the graveyard weren’t lost on you. Those subtle squeezes of your hand, his fingertips playing with your own—it comforted him just as much as it did you. You know it did.

Indecent.

His dinner proposition may be construed as indecent but you know that he only made it in order to mend whatever part of your friendship was broken at the time. Your weight loss had affected him just as much as it did you. There was a time where he could barely look at you because each time he did, there was another chunk of you missing but he’s ready to move past it now. So are you.

Whatever he had said came from a platonic, healing place.

Levi’s called you beautiful before. Back when you had crumbled under the summer sun on that long, winding path. He wrapped his arms around you and called you a brave, beautiful brat. As strange as the words were, as strained as they sounded, they had brought you a pathetic sort of solace.

At least, you were still attractive to some even if in your own eyes you were a gaunt, tragic, ugly creature.

And he had meant it because Levi never speaks a word that he doesn’t mean. Levi finds you beautiful. Levi’s asked you to dinner. Levi spends unnecessary amounts of time—outrageous amounts of time—on ensuring your mental wellbeing. Levi calls you a friend but treats you with the tenderness of a lover.

No.

You’re wrong. You’re being egotistical and insulting. You’re perverting his actions with your heinous, misplaced confidence. To Levi, you are nothing more than a pathetic little widow that he passes the time with. Easily forgotten and utterly disposable.

 _No_.

That’s not quite right, either. Levi is your friend. You’re friends. Friends. Friends. Friends. Best friends. You have a mutual understanding. You care for each other in the most platonic of senses. That’s all.

You shouldn’t be thinking of such things. Levi would call it unhealthy and he’s never been wrong before. So you trust his judgment and shake those thoughts from your mind because nothing good could ever come from them.

~

The first thing that Levi notices is that your house is that it is utterly huge.

Incongruous to the rest of the neighbourhood, it sits at the edge of town and is surrounded by thick woodland. It is palladian and glamorous with a high roof and thick columns supporting it.

It doesn’t suit you at all. He figures that it must’ve come with the husband although Fischer, with his strange drawl never seemed to be of particular wealth and status.

He knocks on the door.

You open it.

The second thing that Levi notices is the flower behind your ear. It’s a daffodil, yellow and lovely.

”Levi! You made it!” You smile at him, the apples of your cheeks rising up sweetly and the third thing he notices is the subtle layer of rouge splayed on top of them.

You’ve made an effort to look good, it seems.

It’s worked.

He can’t blame you too much, though, because he’s wearing his finest, most expensive suit. Levi’s never been one for flashy, heftily-priced clothing but he enjoys the luxurious feel of this fabric and knows that it clings to the broadness of his frame well.

”No, I don’t believe I have. Who’s house is this? If I find that you’ve got an innocent family tied up in the basement, I’ll have no choice but to report you to the appropriate authorities.” He replies flatly and you _giggle_.

It’s been so long—far too long—since he last heard you giggle. It’s a gentle sound, not overly girlish and high pitched. Something similar to the languid flow of river water. He loves it, just as he loves you.

The realisation is terrifying to him. You’re not his first love, by any means. He’s adored women before, wanted their affections and craved their touch but you are the first women that he has ever loved so closely.

There is an infinite intimacy in the way you pull him into your embrace. The dress you wear is innocently revealing, polka dotted and baring the thinness of your shoulders and collarbones. They poke him slightly and he feels his breath catch in his throat. He almost drops the bottle of wine in his hand.

He knows that it is damning to love a woman that yearns for a dead man. He knows that your heart will always belong to Fischer. He knows that he will not and _cannot_ afford to act on his feelings because it would be nothing less than predatory and your recovery is more important than his boyish desires.

He would never forgive himself if he set you back with a confession ( _I don’t have it in me to confess, this feels new and strange and I need to work it out before I ever dream of telling her_ ).

“It’s my house. I know, it’s a lot. Will’s dad is the mayor and he gave us this house as a gift when we got married. Took a lot of getting used to,” You gesture to the ceiling with a nostalgic smile. It’s as though you have stars in your eyes. “— I’ll give you a tour later but for now I have a chicken for us to cook. Don’t worry, I saved you the best part.”

Levi, most certainly, knows that it isn’t the best part.

”I don’t like that smile on your face, woman.” He cringes because he likes it a little too much.

”I’ve been told I have a lovely smile.”

”I’m sure you have. It’s not at all petrifying.” You let out a snort and roll your eyes, lips still curved mischievously. He wants to kiss it off of your face and hates himself for wanting to.

You don’t notice the discomfort of his expression, leading him to the kitchen which is equally as extravagant as the rest of the house. 

”Here, I’ll take that.” You take the wine from him, fingertips brushing against his own.

He notes the stone oven that stretches into your wall and the assortment of fruit on your countertop, contained in a smoothly shaped bowl. He also notices the pale rotisserie chicken not too far from it and the plate of stuffing next to it. After watching you set the wine down, he realises that there are two aprons hung up, one bigger than the other.

”You may want to take your suit off. It looks good, by the way.”

He swallows, somewhat roughly, and takes the apron in his hand. Rolling the cuffs of his sleeves up, he catches you looking at his forearms although the moment is fleeting. He begins to feel incredibly dirty again, cheekbones heating slightly.

”Thank you. Your dress is...nice. The flower, too.” 

You blush, visibly. It’s uncomfortable and somber but you seem eager to maintain your good mood.

”That’s kind of you, Levi,” You smile and part the chicken’s legs. He feels sick at the gaping hole, giving you an annoyed look. You grin.

”—Now, have you ever stuffed a chicken before?”

Levi laughs. It’s brazen and shakes his entire body. He doesn’t understand you, not a single bit. He doesn’t understand how you’re the same woman who spilt her lament onto the grass of her child’s grave. He doesn’t understand how he got here, ready to stuff a chicken in your kitchen.

Nothing makes sense anymore and yet it does.

He loves you and it angers him.


End file.
